


Inertia

by Mettaton_Ex



Series: The Asshole!John AU [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Again, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asshole!John AU, Clueless John, Depends if I feel nice, F/F, F/M, Friends With Benefits, I HATE CODING PESTER LOGS OH GOD YOU DON'T UNDERSTNA D, I'm going to make myself sad with this aren't I, Jade is asexual bc I can't really imagine her being with anyone like that, John Being an Asshole, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pesterlog, Sad Dave, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Unrequited Love, coding pesterlogs is a fucking bitch, i guess i think it's just in her nature to be ace idek, vriska is a cheating shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:42:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2623865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mettaton_Ex/pseuds/Mettaton_Ex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And all at once there was calm. It was like the shocking realisation of inertia, a moment of sudden, abrupt peace and tranquility, staring into his eyes with a mixture of disbelief and. And love. You still loved this boy- this...this stupid, beautiful, selfish boy, trapped in a grown man's body. And all at once it was over, the storm dropped replaced by something all the more heated and charged, and he took the opportunity to say something unexpected. Not abruptly, not like an order.  He just said it. 
Like it was expected and intended for you to do so.</p><p>"Kiss me," He said.</p><p>You did.</p><p>- - -</p><p>
  <em>Inertia, noun.</em><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>The tendency to do nothing or to remain unchanged.</em><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Time apart doesn't always make something go away.</p><p>- - -<br/>
8tracks playlist:<br/>
http://8tracks.com/bakeroni/inertia-a-johndave-fanfic-mix</p><p>[[DISCONTINUED PERMANENTLY]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Dave Runs Away

**Author's Note:**

> fffUUUUCK OKAY  
> Long time no speak!  
> Since we've last spoken, I quit my job, got back together with my datemate and made a skirt. And obviously, written this. Right okay, this is from the Asshole John AU, BUT it's only in the same universe as Hate Is A Strong Word. A Boy Like Me's So Irresponsible is just a drabble, because it makes the main AU way less angsty if it's actually real, which wouldn't be any fun for me at all.  
> Right, this was actually originally a prompt I wrote for CP(Some people might have seen it!)! I decided to develop on it, and it has turned into this monster of a fic! I say monster, but I love it dearly.  
> The first chapter is explicit, so it took me AGES to write out because I'm a weenie who gets flustered about writing smut. You'll notice it's very much about Dave's inner thoughts rather than what they're actually doing, because I fucking feed off of angst. It's what keeps me young and beautiful.  
> ANYWAY.  
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I suffered writing it. I hope to get the next chapter out in the next fortnight, and I'll try not to make it drag in the process like I did with With Me. Enjoy! <33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dave Makes A Decision.

It usually started like this.

A flicker of azure eyes against your face, and a seemingly innocent shift towards you. You kept your gaze shifted towards the television, shielded by your dark aviator shades. He moved closer again, draping an arm over the pillow behind your shoulders. His dad wasn’t home; he had left a couple of hours prior to this, and you suspected he wouldn’t be home until early tomorrow morning. Hot date, apparently. You hoped he would have fun.

John shifted closer, closer until his chest was practically pressed against your arm, and even then you paid no mind. You just paid the same amount of attention to whatever the hell you were watchi-- _where did his hand just go._

You did your best not to jolt as John’s hand slid to your upper thigh, massaging the flesh through your skinny jeans in slow, languid circles, and even without looking at him, you knew he had that stupid smirk on his face that made you putty in his hands. The arm on the top of the bed frame dropped to your lower back, rubbing circles into the small of it and pushing up your shirt to touch goosebumped, freckled flesh. You shivered a little, and he took this as his cue to speak. 

“We’re leaving in two days, Dave.” He said gently, needy like he required this to survive. It hurt you to do this, but he’d complain if you ended up giving him blue balls. Plus, it was the only way you could hear him say your name in such a sweet way, so it had to be sort of worth it. “How about it?”

“How ‘bout what?” You asked. Playing dumb. You were trying to work out whether you even wanted this anymore. You knew that if you said to John you didn’t want this, he’d step off, but you couldn’t. In a small way, you loved being touched by him, even if to him it meant nothing but the release of sexual frustration and the relief of pent up desires.

You could practically hear him roll his eyes. “You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about, you ass.” His hand moved up your leg an inch, and his face moved closer to your neck to mouth hotly at your pulse and throat. You had to suppress another tremble when he flicked his tongue slightly at the skin, sighing shakily. He giggled (fucking _giggled_ ) and continued, hot breath puffing at your throat. “One last go? Before we see each other again?” You grumbled slightly, and you felt him smirk against your neck. It was starting to get real difficult  to watch the TV right now, what with him beginning to suck lightly at your throat and let your shirt ride up as his hand traveled up your back.  
“The silent treatment? Really, Dave?” John laughed again, and his hand slid further up your thigh, just about to touch your crotch when you grabbed his hand, lifting it up and whirling around on the bed to sit up properly and face him. The TV was completely abandoned now, in favour of a staring match. You, frowning and impassive, and him, smirking and smug.

And just like clockwork, just like a well rehearsed cue, the spell was broken and you leaned forward, pushing your lips against his in frustration and curling your hand more gently around his wrist. You could feel him smirking (what an obnoxious bastard, of course he would be) and fighting not to part his lips too early to slip his tongue into your mouth. As good a kisser as he was, he rushed into sloppy makeouts far too early. You shifted, allowing him to sit up and slipping to crouch in his lap, and making a soft, pleased noise when he moved his hand back up the back of your shirt. You were always the bottom in this relationship, which didn’t really bother you. You felt that you could lead in other ways, but for the purpose of sex, or for the purpose of sex with John, you always let him lead. Whatever spared him from feeling ‘gay’.

  
That was the worst thing about this...thing, you had. Despite him touching you in such intimate ways on a regular basis, he would still go out, date girls, _fuck_ girls, and claim not to be into guys. And it tore you apart. It tore you apart and yet you still did it. It was because you loved him. You constantly told yourself that it was a laughable, fucked up world if you could find it in yourself to love a guy who didn’t think of you as anything more than as an object to use for sex.

  
As always, you pushed the thought from your mind, sparing yourself the heartache of a one-sided relationship and running a hand through his windswept hair, finally allowing yourself to part your lips and let him slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring the space eagerly, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Which, as usual, he didn’t. You let go of his wrist and he pulled you closer with his now free hand, pushing you to straddle his lap, and breaking the kiss to plant light, teasing kisses at your jaw and down your neck, nipping with his stupidly adorable teeth. Despite years of braces, he still had the slightest of overbites, visible when he laughed or bit his lip in the way that you loved.  
  
Your hands curled into his hair again, working subconsciously through the natural tangles and tightening a fraction each time he pressed his lips down to suck at your pulse. or the delicate skin of your throat. It seemed he wanted to leave a bruise, perhaps to mark you as his own. He’d never let you do that to him, though, Not where anyone could see, at least. It wasn’t very fair. Like he was ashamed, or something. You wouldn’t put it past him.

  
His lips pulled off of your neck with a lewd sucking noise, and you sighed at the loss of suction before he spoke, hot breath tingling and the hand at your back pushing your shirt up. “God, I’m going to miss this…”

_No you’re not. You’ll find someone else to interest you in the mean time. You always do._

  
You held your tongue. He pulled away then to peel your top off of you and cast it to the floor, and did the same to himself, knocking his glasses off. That’s when you really went to work, casting away your hurt and just...giving in to the moment. You shifted and pushed him down gently onto the bed, concentrating on worshipping his body the only way you knew how. Sidling down his form, you left hot kisses here and there, lapping your tongue languidly against a pert nipple and drinking in the way he gasped almost inaudibly. John wasn’t pale, thin and wiry like you; he was what you supposed was the textbook definition of an _Adonis_ ; if Michelangelo saw him he’d have based his statue on John, rather than whoeverthefuck that David guy was. In short, it made sense why John got so much attention from girls, with a face and body like his. Not to stay you didn't, just...you weren't interested.

Your pale hands brushed over the smooth, tan skin over his sides, and you flicked your eyes up to watch him, to see his mouth gasp open in a perfect little ‘o’ just like you hoped it would.

“Dave…” He curled his hand gently into your hair. At that, you betrayed a small smile against the bottom of his ribs, sliding your lips down and pressing kisses here and there, until you got to his waistband. Again, you shifted your gaze upwards to this time meet his, and again you were locked in a silent stare off, before he reached a hand to your face to slip your shades off.

He often said you had girl eyes, with long eyelashes, and it kind of felt like that was part of the reason he was as willing to do this as he was. You ignored how much that fact, like every other fact pertaining to this...thing you had together, hurt.

  
You blinked once your shades were off, and you could almost see the hint of a smile cross his features before your hands brushed against his waistband and worked in unbuttoning them. Soon his pants were being worked off, and the tent in his boxers was a little more than noticeable. “Eager, then?” You murmured, flicking your eyes back up and quirking an eyebrow. He rolled his eyes and scowled at you.

“Shut up--!” The rest of his sentence was bit back as you pressed your tongue to his clothed dick, and he unsuccessfully held back a whine. The feeling of cotton wasn’t that great on your palette, but you could deal with it, if it made him like this. You planted your lips onto the head and heard another breathy moan, and an impatient, though light tug of your hair. You pulled your lips off and looked back up at him with a grin, keeping eye contact as you slipped his boxers off down to his thighs and his erection sprang free.

“ _Definitely_ eager.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

No, you’re pretty sure he was going to do that for you.

Your breath ghosted over him, and he gave another light tug of your hair, exhaling a soft, shaky sigh and tipping his head back a little. You pushed his shirt up to expose his stomach (that beautiful, tanned and toned stomach of his) and continued to look at him, feeling a sick sense of satisfaction. In that moment, he needed this. He needed you.

And that was good enough for you.

You leaned down, brushing your tongue over the head of his dick and feeling the muscles in his stomach constrict under your palm as he sucked in a soft breath. John was vocal, when it came down to it, mumbling soft praises when you did something well, or simply gasping out your name when you did something he really liked. More often than not, though, it was someone else’s name, the latest girlfriend he had bagged, or the girl he was sticking his dick into when he wasn’t giving it to you. You almost wanted to tell her, the poor unfortunate soul, what a two timing pig he was being, but what would that solve? You’d get a sad girl, lose a best friend and lover, and be all on your own. And what would be the point in that. 

“Come _on_ ,” He urged softly. You flicked your tongue against the slit and wrapped your tongue around the base, quirking your eyebrow with an amused smirk. 

“What’s the rush, Egbert?” You asked, after taking your tongue off of him. “We’ve got all evening.”

“I know,” He tugged your hair again. “It doesn’t mean you can’t move your ass.”

You huffed and bit back a snarky comment, rolling your eyes and focusing more on the task at hand. That being, sucking your ‘totally-not-gay- best friend’s dick. You parted your lips again and placed them, almost gingerly,over it’s head, and gave a suck. This had happened so many times before, over the span of two years, and he still reacted the same. A relieved sigh, as if he had been waiting for hours for something way more necessary and vital to his existence than a blowjob, and a heart-wrenchingly soft brush through your hair with his fingers. After careful consideration you slipped your mouth down his length, getting half way before you hollowed out your cheeks and started a teasingly slow rhythm. He always denied it, but John adored being teased. It just made the result better for him. You were more than happy to do that, especially when the strokes turned into light grips again. You really must have been some kind of fucking masochist, Jesus Christ.

“ _Dave_ ,” It sounded like a plea, and you’d have smiled if your mouth weren’t so...occupied. Instead, you resumed, picking up the pace just enough that his unworded complaints ceased for a moment. To think, you wouldn’t get to do this anymore, for a long, long time. Until Christmas, at least, and if not not until the Summer. You weren’t sure if you could take not seeing him for so long, and yet you weren’t sure if you could take seeing him at all. 

With that, you pushed away your thoughts and slipped down so that you were down to the hilt. Thank the gods for the fact that you had little to no gag reflex. He breathed in another gasp, as you drew up, until your lips were planted just on the head of his dick, and then back down, repeating the motion a few times amongst the regular rhythm and feeling his stomach muscles tense under your fingertips as he teetered closer to the edge, only for you to draw him away from it at the last minute, pulling off with a slick pop.  
 

He huffed breathlessly, irritably as you brushed a kiss on the inside of his thigh and looked up through your eyelashes with a coy smile. You didn’t even need to say anything, he was already worked up enough to pull you up for another bruising kiss and to slide his hands up your shirt, exposing your pale, freckled back to the cold air of his room. You parted from him briefly to slide off your pants, leaving you in your boxers and partially hard. While you were doing that he must have stripped himself of the rest of his clothes, he was reaching forward for you and pulling you on top of him. You quickly settled to straddle his thighs, leaning down to capture his lips in another kiss, and feeling his tongue flicking once again at your lips and his hips pushing up in desperate need for some sensation and friction. You granted him that much at least, pushing your hips down and grinding down against his bare crotch, the thin material of your boxers being the only barrier between your bare, heated skin touching his. The feeling though, it made you gasp. John groaned and played with the waistband of your boxers, slipping his hand past the elastic and squeezing your ass. You parted the kiss again with a surprised whine, and was met with his insatiable, irresistible asshole grin. You reciprocated with another grind and his moan echoed in the room. “Dave..”  
 

It was then you sat up and moved, stripping yourself of your boxers and leaving yourself naked and vulnerable. And, from the way John was looking at you, good enough to eat. “See something you like?” You breathed, moving towards him as he sat up. You moved to properly straddle his hips by the time he was sat upright, and you draped your arms over his shoulders as he held your waist lightly, kind of like he was holding porcelain.  
 

“Well, there’s you.” He grinned at you, like the dork he was, and he kissed you again. It was slower now, much like it always was before you fucked, and you liked it. It was almost like you meant something to him beyond ‘his best friend that he had sex with on a regular basis’. His hands traced the scars on your back, silently and blindly mapping them out like he was planning them out for later reference, and your hands threaded through his dark locks and felt him shiver in the nicest of ways underneath you. After a while of kissing and touching you could hear him blindly reaching for something in his dresser-- you knew what it was, you weren’t going to pretend you didn’t-- and you pulled away from the kiss , partly to marvel at John’s beautiful looking, reddened lips, and partly to ready yourself for what was inevitably about to happen. He made a small, triumphant ‘Ah-ha!’ and pulled his hand out of the dresser, looking at you with another smile as you held out your hand for the lube he soon pressed into it. 

“Take that shit eating smirk offa’ your face.” You grumbled and you popped open the cap, slicking your fingers in the liquid, and giving it a sniff. You always thought it smelled weird, and today was no exception. This part was always the most tedious, mostly because it made you have to angle your wrist weirdly and John pointedly refused to do it for you.  
  
 _‘I’m not putting my fingers up your butt, Dave!’_

And yet he was fine with putting his dick up there. Okay.  
  
He seemed to like watching you do it, though. You flipped the cap back closed and tossed it on the bed, looping an arm loosely around his neck and reached your other hand behind you, sliding a lubed up finger against your entrance and letting a puff of air escape your lips. At this point you weren’t virgin tight by any stretch of the imagination (pun intended) but it still took some work to stretch your ass enough for him. Otherwise it’d hurt, and you wouldn’t be able to walk right for about a week. You found that out the first time the two of you had sex, and while Dadbert had no idea, Bro knew exactly what was up. He never explicitly stated so, but you knew he knew why you were walking like you just got off a horse. He fucking _knew_.

  
You pushed your finger in a fraction and shifted uncomfortably. For what was not the first time in the last two weeks, you thanked whatever god was listening for the fact that you had trimmed your fingernails for this exact purpose. John had his hands on your thighs and was looking at you like you were the best thing on this earth. Which you would believe, if he wasn’t so two faced about his emotions. His attitude when it was just the two of you so intimate like this, couldn’t make up for how he ignored (or, didn’t notice) the way your heart broke every time he was with another girl.  
  
You pushed the finger in the whole of the way and your eyelids fluttered a little before you looked at him. “See somethin’... y’like?” Your Texan lilt was coming out in full swing and it would embarrass you if you weren’t so occupied. He caught it, but he just grinned, a dark red settling on his tanned skin, silently urging you to continue. So of course, you decided to ham it up, give him a real show, You began to move your finger, initially to loosen yourself up, but soon you added another finger, stretching yourself further, and you curled your finger here and there, searching for that one spot… “Shit-!” Found it. A moan bubbled in your throat and your eyes latched onto John’s, and he was more than a little hot and bothered staring at you, his dick visibly throbbing. You had to say, it was a beautiful blush… You added a third finger and slid it in and out, moving your hips slowly and keeping coy eye contact with him, watching his eyes flick from your face to your lips and noticing his breaths become a little more erratic. He reached over into the dresser and pulled out a condom (he had taken to storing them in most places around his room-- you had done in more than just the bed, after all), ripping it open with his teeth and rolling it on, covering his dick with more of the lube as you pulled your three fingers out, groaning at the loss of contact and wiping your fingers on his sheets. You’d clean that up later. Probably. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer again so that you were perched directly over his lap, and looked at you.

  
“Okay?” He said quietly. You nodded and reached behind you once again, standing his dick upright underneath you and lowering yourself down onto it with a barely audible grunt. It took a while, obviously-- your fingers were nothing like the girth of his dick-- about five minutes before you were fully sheathed. “Okay..?” He repeated.

  
You shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position where you could straddle without pulling a muscle in your legs, before you found a place and slid your hands to his shoulders, gripping them lightly. "Okay." You replied like this was some shitty playthrough of The Fault In Our Stars. Everything was candid and depressing, only no one was going to die.  
  
No, it was just gay and sad and doomed into oblivion, because of course nothing good could happen in a situation like this. You were far too unlucky and he was far too dense to know what he was doing to you.

   
Your fingers curled into his shoulders and you gave a huff as you shifted again before beginning to move. You began to roll your hips, creating a slow rhythm and getting used to the sensation that came with fucking John. Your arms slid so your hands were drooping against his back and you were closer, feeling his audible breaths when he began to thrust upwards inside you. The air was filled with gentle grunts from his end, and heavy breaths from yours.

  
The pace quickened around the same time you began to see a light film of sweat begin to develop on John’s forehead, and the quicker it became the more regularly you could hear the slapping of your bare skin against his. You bit down on your lip and looked at him with heavy lidded eyes, seeing give you an expression as filthy as sin, but with the smirk and twinkle in his eye that reminded you that he was the boy you loved. His hands tightened on your waist, and his nails bit into your skin hard enough that you were sure there’d be bruises by the time you woke up the next morning. It felt like, when you noticed the slight shift in his expression, that he was looking for something, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was- _fuck_.

Your heavy breathing was interrupted by a throaty croon, and his grin widened in silent victory as he began to focus his thrusts on that particular spot, speeding up and hitting your prostate hard enough that you were afraid he’d fucking bruise it. “Oh _God_.”

“You can call me John.” He replied breathlessly, with that self-righteous smirk that you wanted to kiss off his stupid face. So you did, gladly, giving him a uncoordinated kiss which he gladly reciprocated, quickly melting into messy, open mouthed kisses full of tongue and teeth and lust. You quickened your pace then, your moans sounding muffled against his lips and his own groans sounding in his throat. Every sick, twisting feeling you had, the knowledge that he didn’t love you like you loved him went away, replaced with the eudaimonia you experienced whenever you were near him, the kissing, the touching, the mindless intimacy… you lived for it.

At this point you could feel yourself quivering, barely able to kiss him, so you settled with your lips brushing against his as you moved and ground down in time to his thrusts, filling the room with your pitchy gasps and moans, sounding like every inch the perfect porn star. You were getting close, but John was closer, probably helped along by your mouth earlier on. It was honestly a wonder he was able to hold on for as long as he had, but it was showing that he wasn’t going to last much longer, from the look of his face and the glazed quality of his eyes.  
  
  
You were the same, you could barely feel where he ended and where you began, your chest was flush against his and his mouth was off yours and was trailing down your neck, hands exploring your back, the only words on your lips being his name, tattooed onto your mind like an explicit reminder of what you had, in his untidy royal blue cursive, scrawled over and over again just John, John, John.

“John-!” Your voice was somewhere caught between a whine and a groan, and if the you that walked around every day, who didn’t have lust crowding his mind were to hear that, he’d want to bury himself under the ground in shame. You sounded like a porn star trying to get her next paycheck, and she wanted to get paid well. Not to say John didn’t dig that. No, he loved that, and he pushed you back onto the bed with his hands on your hips, still inside you and fucked you with a new found fervour, and by God you were not going to be able to walk straight by the end of this, you just knew it. And there you were, singing like an fucking canary for him, preaching his name like he was the only thing with a chance of getting you into heaven (like it wasn’t already too late for that). Your hands were by your head, clenching with every thrust, and your back arched away from the bed, damp with sweat.

It was only when he reached from where he had his left hand to clasp your pale, clammy one that you felt yourself nearing breaking point. You looked up at him desperately, mouth parted to speak but you couldn’t say anything without stammering and sounding like a complete fucking tool. “I- _I’m_ -”

“Not yet.” He grunted, squeezing your hand as he continued to move, your body shifting deliciously with each rut against the bed. You could see the sheen of sweat on his honey coloured skin and the lusty expression on his face, and you knew that for these moments that all he was thinking of was you. “Fuck, _Dave_.”

“ _Haah_..” It was an almost torturous pleasure, this refusal to let you come, and you bit down on your lip as you held on, locking your ankles behind him once again and moving, though slightly out of synchronization, against him in a way that made his moans reverberate off of the walls. It sounded so racy and indecent that if all of the blood hadn’t gone south you would have been blushing up a storm. “ _John_.”

He leaned down and crashed his lips to yours, messy and coordinated, but still perfect, as he twitched and convulsed slightly against you with his release, still thrusting into you and groaning muffled against your lips, his nose bumping lightly against yours and his breath coming out heavy when he parted, still gasping as he rode it out, looking down at you with hazy, lusty, blissful eyes. You looked up at him desperately, begging for release and he gave it to you, with a squeeze of his hand and that stupid, perfect smile, and it was enough to push you over the edge with a pitchy whine and squeeze of his hand, your insides constricting against him and milking him for all he was worth, the both of you riding out your orgasms until the both of you were spent.

He flopped down onto you (gingerly, of course) and you unwrapped your legs from behind him, staring up at his ceilings. He still had the luminous stars up there from when you were twelve, you noticed, but they were considerably faded by now. It was almost sad. Eventually he pulled out of you, eliciting a sigh from the both of you, he pulled off the condom and tied it as directed, dropping it in the trash before flopping down beside you.

“...Tissues?” You asked after a moment. He sat up wearily and moved over to the side by his dresser, while you righted yourself to lie up by the pillows. He joined you, handing you a wad and wiping himself off while you did the same in an almost pregnant silence.

  
Dropping the tissues into the trash can, you settled down on your side, facing away from him, as he lay on his back. This was the worst part, you thought. The tangible silence between the two of you after you did something like this. It was strictly business, no cuddling, no kissing, no holding hands, no anything post-coital. It was ‘all in the moment’, according to him.

Didn’t he _know_ what he _did_ to you? Didn’t the fact that you had agreed to this for so long clue him in on how you fucking _felt_? Clearly not, because after two years he would still date other people, girls, kiss them, _fuck_ them and then come back to you each and every weekend while you tried harder and harder to keep yourself from _tearing yourself apart._

Frankly,you were sick of it. Sick of the emotional distance, sick of the fact that he just didn’t care. He did this for his own benefit, you knew that from the way he would love you then leave you. He had ruined you.

And yet, you loved him. You _love_ him.

“John-” You began, turning over, but the words died in your throat before they could be let out.

He was already asleep.

You were, to this day, the only person who got to see his sleeping face. The girls he slept with never stayed the night, it was always at parties that he would have sex with them in the spare bedroom, wash his dick off then come downstairs to where you were and act like everything was fucking hunkydory. They always saw his gorgeous, smirking, flirting face, his blissful, intense orgasm face...but they never saw his dorky, embarrassed face, or his soft, concerned face, or the face he made when he laughed, or got excited, or sleepy, or upset, or angry, or happy... _they_ didn’t know him like _you_ did.

His breath was level, lips parted a fraction, and his long, dark, feathery eyelashes were on his cheeks, eyelids twitching as he dreamed. His hands rested on his bare stomach, chest rising and falling with each level breath.

  
God, he was beautiful.

  
But you couldn’t do this. Not anymore. He would never love you. Even if you loved him, you were just a means to an end for John. And though it tore you apart to admit it, you couldn’t do it anymore. You sat up slowly, careful not to awake your sleeping friend, and you climbed gingerly off of the side of the bed, collecting your clothes and putting them back on, eyeing him throughout so that he wouldn’t wake up without your knowing it. You dressed and- and then what? Just leave?

You supposed so. You couldn’t bear to see him now that you had made this decision, You would leave for college, a few days ahead of time, to settle in prior to beginning your four years at college. A fresh new start, with new people and new opportunities. And maybe, new chances for love.

As you slid on your shades and turned off the TV (it was still playing after all this time), you cast another look at John and his sleeping form, and your expression became pained.

With a soft, barely audible sigh, you approached the bed cautiously, like he was a wounded animal rather than a sleeping friend-with-benefits, and pulled up his covers over him. Some last gesture of kindness towards him before you left his life for the foreseeable future.

Although. You let go of the blanket and was leant over him, shades slipping down your nose before you pushed them back up and bit on your lip a little. You were going to miss him. God, were you ever.

Before you knew it, you were leaning down and pressing a kiss down onto his temple, brushing back his raven hair to do so, and it was everything you could do not to end up losing your cool and whimpering like a huge fucking baby.

“I love you.” You whispered, too quiet for even you to hear, and you wouldn’t be sure you said if if you weren’t the one to say it. With that, you left his room without a sound, closing his door with no more than a barely audible click, slipping your shoes and jacket on at the front door and leaving into the night.

  
You checked your phone for the time. 11:32 pm. Bro would still be up.

Dialing the number, it rang for a few moments before Bro picked up. “Yeah?”

“Can...you come pick me up? I’m thinkin’ of going to college a couple days early.”

You heard a shuffle on the other end. Sounded like he was standing up. “Something wrong, Lil’ man?”

“No.” You looked back at the house, briefly. The silence was long, but he allowed you a moment to collect your thoughts and say something without sniffing grossly. Since when had you started crying? Ugh. “Nah, I’m cool. I’m so cool it makes the polar bears feel like they’re in the rainforest compared to how cool it is up in here...can you just come pick me up?” God, that was a terrible metaphor, and normally you'd berate yourself to the high heavens for it, but you really didn't want to. You literally couldn't find the emotional strength to do so, right now.

“...Yeah, no problem. I’ll be there in ten.” And he hung up. He knew something was wrong, you weren’t even going to kid yourself that he didn’t. But you were glad he was coming as soon as he could, even if ten minutes was far too long a wait.

You just needed to get away.

Even if it was making you break down inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblr at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!


	2. Family Fuckin' Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dave Has Dinner With Two Flighty Broads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot write Roxy Lalonde for shit

"All I'm saying is that I'm happy with how my apartment is as it is. I don't need any fucking crocheted doilies or knitted tea cozies courtesy of the Lalonde-Maryam household. I mean thanks, but no thanks."

"You're the one who's always complaining that it’s a state. All I want to do is be a courteous cousin and help you with some home improvement.”

You sighed into the receiver, juggling the practically empty box once containing pre-developed film under the other arm. “Like I said, thanks but no thanks. You’re already trying to add a ‘woman’s touch’ to my apartment when I’m not looking-”

“No I’m _not_.” She interrupted with a faux scandalised voice.

“Yes you are,” You couldn’t help the grin that spread over your face. “I’ve seen you. Don’t think I haven’t.”

“You love it, Dave. I can just imagine you revelling in the abundance of knitted cushion covers and lace tablecloths Kanaya and I lovingly embroider for you, rolling about in them with wild glee and abandon. It’s really not that far a feat to picture the sheer joy that spreads across your face each and every time you find a new doily and crocheted square tucked into the gaps of your couch.” If she wasn’t smirking before, she sure as hell was smirking now.

“I don’t need any more, thank _you_. You should be working, shouldn’t you? Rather than bothering me while I’m at work to give me a live and by telephone psychiatric consultation about my apartment that may somehow go back to the root of the problem, my having daddy issues, or somethin’.”

“Well…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Rose. I’ll see you this evening anyway, so you can forcibly delve into my mind then. Rox is cooking spaghetti, and I don’t want to miss that process for the world.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard. My sister is _insisting_ that I come around and taste her new recipe, so it’s going to be interesting to determine how wrong this is going to go. My mother won’t be attending, however. She said she’s volunteering at the cat pound this evening.”

“Cat pound? Wasn’t she banned from that place?” Your auntie, though a very kind and considerate lady was, in very blunt terms, a crazy cat lady. She adored cats, and on more than one occasion would attempt to smuggle one out of the pound she volunteered at, because she thought it was cute and wanted to keep it. It was admirable, and entirely possible that she could look after it properly, but it was still technically not allowed and she got severely reprimanded for it.

“Was being the key word, yes. After I implored her not to smuggle away any of the cats again and asked the pound to let her volunteer, she’s now considered ‘one of the team’ again, for want of a better phrase.”

“Good for her. So what, it’s just the four of us?”

“Just the four of us.” She repeated. “I have to go, Kanaya is giving me the evil eye from across the room over her embroidery, and it’s making me feel guilty for neglecting my writing.”

“Too fucking right. You go, Kanaya, four for you. Rose, I expect that chapter finished by tonight and on my desk by Monday.”

“So you can spell check and mark it for improvements?”

“You bet. Later.”

“Goodbye, Dave.” She hung up, and all you could hear was the dial tone. You figured it was better to leave her to do her writing than keep her talking, especially where her disapproving fiancee was concerned. Rose Lalonde was both your cousin, and a semi-famous writer, renowned for her works in both the fantasy and macabre genres. She was currently writing what she was dubbing as her magnum opus, her great work. She was already infamous for her long, winding descriptions that entangled the reader, as she so eloquently put, in a web of fascination and interest, but she vowed that this one, above all else, would be the show stopper. And you did not doubt that, one bit.

  
Your phone was running low on battery, at this point. You always forgot how long Rose tended to chat once she got going, and she seemed determined to pick apart every detail of your day and every thought in your mind every time she called (because you were rarely, if ever the one to call her). You tossed it onto the kitchen counter and pointedly ignored the ‘low battery’ light flashing rhythmically on it’s side, getting back to the matter at hand.  
  
After college, leaving with a hefty debt and a degree in art and photography, you did what any young man with no actual skills outside the arts would do, and you set up a business. You were a photographer- weddings, proms, birthdays, christenings, you did the lot. It was difficult at first; mind numbingly so, and fucking disappointing for the first few months with a dry spell when it came to appointments and shoots, but you got there. You got an office just outside Manhattan (not without the help of Rose and your aunt’s illustrious connections with the fat cats in the concrete jungle, of course), a fairly good source of income, and you would often do one-off shoots for Kanaya if she needed a photographer for her independent line of clothes. You had had this job for two years now, and you enjoyed it, even when it did get difficult, like recently. Yeah, life was pretty alright for you.

 _Mostly_.

There was, of course, the issue of a significant other. It wasn’t an issue, per se, just…

You got lonely, okay? Ever since going to college, you were lucky if you had a relationship with someone that lasted longer than a couple of months, and so you resulted in looking at drunken one night stands at frat parties and bars, and your left hand for company. And that was no way to live. With your friends beginning to settle down (Karkat, your college roommate, was thinking of proposing to his girlfriend--who happened to be one of your long time friends-- with some huge ass rock the size of a monkey’s fist, for Christ sake) you were reminded of your own painful solitude and the fact that, despite your--and let’s be honest here-- undeniably good looks and charm, you had no luck in the relationship department.

You must be fucking cursed.

You set the film box down on the counter and picked the last of the rolls up, reading the ride of the case.

‘judy & paul franklins wedding’  


It was cold as a bitch that day, even though it was about a week ago at the end of September. Not cold enough to snow, but not warm enough not to warrant a thermal coat for you, the poor Texan guy. You hated how cold it got up here, you were never going to get used to it, even after being up here...six years, was it?

Jesus, time really had flown by. Of course, you went down to Texas over the holidays, but the visits were few and far between, only really going down for yours and your brothers’ Birthdays, or Christmas. Other than that you found it difficult to go down for fear of...of…

You really needed to get some work done, thinking about it was hurting your head.

You took the case of film to your dark room. It had taken about a month of ass kissing letters and phone calls to your landlord to get permission to put it in, but eventually you got your way (as you always do once you get your charm on) and you were able to convert your tiny spare bedroom into a dark room. It was better than renting one out, because you only had to pay for it once (as surprisingly expensive as that 'once' ended up being) rather than paying rent every week or month, and it was right in your apartment, rather than the other side of the city. You could go to do a shoot somewhere and then go straight home to work on the developments rather than halfway across the city to do it. It was just saving money, at the end of the day, which was something you prided yourself on.

  
The dark room was, of course, dark. Dark enough that you moved to flip your shades over on top of your head, before you realised you weren’t wearing them. You never did, at home. After all, there was nothing like oddly coloured eyes to hide from the general public there, and the lights were never bright enough to harm your already sensitive eyes, like it could be during the middle of the day in the city. Still, it became a habit of yours to wear then, which is why you were momentarily confused. You switched the lamp on and instantly the room became bathed in a reddish glow, revealing strings with developed pictures hanging on them to dry, the trays filled with solution to wash the photos in, and the finished photos in albums on the side. Sure, you could just convert to a more digital approach, but where would be the fun in that? Besides, there was something a lot more intimate and special about going through the efforts of developing photos. People seemed to appreciate them a lot more, and they just seemed to look better. There was nothing quite like a proper photo, you always said.

Saying that, though, the transfer and cleaning solutions for the photos fucking stank, and by the time you had finished the entire film, transferred it and hung it up to dry, you were more than happy to have left the small room.

That was the last shoot taken care of. A job well done, you thought, and you were sure everyone who might have been present were you not such a fucking introvert living on your own would agree wholeheartedly.

It wasn't that you didn't like people. You loved people, it's just that they tired you out quickly. You preferred being with little or no people for the majority of the time, which made your job a damn contradiction, seeing as you had to be around people for 70% of your job. But, artists had to suffer for their craft. And you are an artist. You have the diploma to prove it.

The point was, Striders were pretty much all introverts; it was just your way. Even Bro, with his part time DJ-ing job and reigning supreme champion of most popular puppet porn site on the internet, needed more than his fair share of down time, and Dirk was a goddamn recluse, only going out if it was with his boyfriend and his best friends. All things considered, you were the most social of the lot. And that was saying something.

But even so, you were happier on your own than being forced to put on a prize winning smile and socialise like it'll save you from eternal damnation. Because hell, you were doomed from the start.

_But enough of that._

  
You decided to put your phone on charge. You tended to get a lot of calls, being in the business of making appointments, arranging shoots, working out the small print and whatnot, but very little personal calls, aside from your weekly chat with Rose, the odd _'hey fuckmunch, get your lazy no good ass out of bed for the love of Christ almighty it's five in the evening you promised you'd send me the colour samples of [insert thing here] from Kanaya for the bridesmaid's dresses I swear to God'_  from Karkat and the bi monthly calls from Bro and Dirk. Mostly you messaged people, but lately even that was becoming sparse, with messages becoming few and far between.

Back in High School, it was never like that, your phone would be constantly buzzing with texts from friends, you were a pretty with it and social person over social media. You’d text each other to meet up and send each other funny pictures and puns and just ramble about your day because you had nothing better to do with your life. But now that everyone had grown up, it was different. They were older. They had lives, jobs. Karkat and Rose were getting married, for fucks’ sake. Albeit to different people, but still.  
And there you were, granted with a job, but living on your own, unable to hold down a fucking relationship. All because you were caught up on _him_.

You didn’t love him anymore, Anything that suggested that you might was quickly stamped into the ground, doused in gasoline and watched from a distance as it burned like a fuckin’ Guy Fawkes bonfire.  
You didn’t love him.

So why the _fuck_ was this happening to you? Hm? It must have been some stupid psychological thing that had you caught up in a loop over it, some stupid curse that your forefathers so kindly imposed upon you after they turned up from butt-fuck nowhere and...you don’t know, insulted some voodoo priestess or gypsy queen or something. Maybe great great great great great granddad Strider forgot to take her over the mountain, hell knows.  
Point is, there was something seriously wrong if you were unable to maintain anything more than a one night stand, or a casual regular hook up.

And you would go to a professional, but the only one you knew was Rose, even if she wasn’t an actual therapist. And like fuck were you going to lower yourself to that level, because she wouldn’t let you hear the end of it. She’d tell you that there was a psychological desire to be with him, that you still loved John.

 _John_.

His name tasted bitter, like coffee, on your tongue, even if you didn’t say it, even if you hadn’t said it in years. Bitter, but slowly, gradually sweetening and soothing, honey on a scalded tongue, and you had to stop yourself from loudly and angrily berating yourself in the near silence of your apartment. _Fuck_.  
You rubbed your calloused palms over your face and gave a distasteful expression. No good could come of feeling as shit as you did.

  
Your phone chimed. It was enough of a surprise to shake you out of your quickly darkening mood, but not enough to actually make you jump. Striders don’t jump.  
Ain’t cool.  
You unglued your feet from where you were standing like a complete jackass in the middle of your apartment, picked up your phone up, still charging, from the counter, and checked to see who it was.

\-- Bro [BRO] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 15:34 -- 

_Great._

  
BRO: Dave.  
TG: what>  
BRO: Gee, Dave. That any way to greet your poor, old, ailing Bro? I’m upset. Hurt, even. Wounded.  
BRO: Not even a hello. I am so, so upset.   
TG: no you aint dont bullshit me   
BRO: Mind your fucking language, lil’ dude.  
TG: dont call me that   
TG: im a fully grown adult man   
TG: i pay taxes   
TG: i vote  
TG: i can curse if i damn well please   
BRO: And you can also whine like a fuckin’ baby.   
TG: what do you want   
BRO: We don’t see each other enough, so I was thinking y’all could pay little old me a visit.   
BRO: Think of it as some kind of family reunion. Dirk’ll be there, too.   
TG: whats this all of a sudden   
TG: normally its birthdays and christmas and thats it   
TG: no family fuckin reunions   
TG: dont tell me youre getting sentimental on me old man   
TG: cant be havin that, were gonna have to put you into a home   
TG: youre getting senile bro   
BRO: Shut your damn mouth, I’m still your elder.   
TG: no kidding, you fucking geriatric   
BRO: Give me the benefit of the doubt and come down for a while. I know for a fact that you’re workin’ yourself to death up there, you’d probably benefit from a holiday.  
BRO: Besides, it ain’t like you’ve got shoots coming out of your ass right now.   


Ouch, _low blow._ Okay, so business was slow. Crazy slow. Fucking dead tortoise slow. You were paid decently enough with the shoots you did do, but it was getting kind of difficult, even with the random sums of money appearing in your bank account that you totally knew were put there by Bro.

TG: ok first of all  
TG: how dare you  
TG: how do you even know that?   
BRO: I have my sources.   


That'd be Rose, then.

TG: ugh   
TG: im getting the vibe that i dont have a choice in the matter   
BRO: Nope.   
TG: fabulous   
TG: youre damn lucky ive already paid my rent for this month   


Because hell fucking no were you gonna be late on it. Your apartment should be okay for a week or so, right? Right. It’s not like you’d be in danger of losing your apartment in the time you were away.

BRO: Fantastic. So I’ll be blessed with the gift of your company soon, will I?   
BRO: Say, next week maybe?   
TG: saturday   
BRO: Saturday sounds perfect.   
TG: dont know how i feel about seeing you this often in a year   
TG: dont want you getting too attached   
BRO: Don’t flatter yourself, Davey.   
TG: heavens no   
TG: i cant be taking all the limelight away from you can i   
BRO: Damn straight.   
BRO: Anyway. Stay out of trouble, don’t stick knives in the toaster, wash your hands after you piss, etc etc, so on and so forth.   
TG: youre getting better at this caring guardian schtick congrats  
BRO: I’ve never been anything asides from a fucking shipshape father-brother figure.   
TG: yeah yeah   
TG: later   


\-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering Bro [BRO] at 15:50 -- 

* * *

 

“I gotta say, Rox, you’ve outdone yourself this time.” You were halfway through your (surprisingly and pleasantly stomachable) meal, courtesy of your favourite pink eyed cousin, when you changed the topic of conversation from ‘whether the napkins at the wedding reception should be cream or ivory’.

She grinned at you, leaning back in her chair and flapping around the hand not curled around the glass of lemonade. She didn’t drink anymore. “Pssh, it was nothin’. Just some a’ Mama Roxy’s talents in the kitchen!”

“I’m surprised you didn’t manage to burn the kitchen down.” Rose said coolly, though good naturedly. They snarked back and forth, the two sisters, but they were never genuinely mean to each other.

“Yeah, you say that like you can actually cook, Rosie~.” The older sister grinned at her younger sibling, and Rose flushed. Ah, yes. Rose was not someone to trust in a kitchen. She could just about make toast without requiring the fire department to assist her in putting out the miniature bonfire that sparked up ‘through no fault of her own’ from the toaster. Hell, even you were better than her, and you were the self-proclaimed Lord High Commander of the microwave and take out menu. Kanaya was always the one who cooked in their relationship, though she wasn’t much better. At least she had some potential to improve, but Rose… Rose was just a lost cause.

“Yes, well.” Rose paused to lift her glass to her lips and take a sip. “My culinary expertise may be lacking, but in this day and age you can’t possibly expect me to have the time or ability to cook, what with a wedding to plan, and a magnum opus to finish?” Which was just a fancy way of saying ‘you’re right, but I’m not gonna admit it’.

“Besides, even with her lack of finesse in the kitchen, she makes up for it in _other_ respects.” Kanaya piped up with a wry grin, laying her hand over Rose’s, and your face contorted in what must have been an expression of utter disgust.

“Augh, God, no. Keep your fucking bedroom antics away from the dinner table.” The damn nerve of some people, honestly. Roxy was just cackling, grin wide with bright pink lipstick gleaming against Hollywood white teeth. “How do you not have a problem with this, that’s your _sister_.”

“Believe me, kiddo, I have said so much worse about my sex life at the dinner table.”

“Don’t I know it.” Rose’s lip curled up in both distaste and amusement, and Roxy just grinned wider, obviously unaffected by the sudden exposure of information.

“Wait, was that what you were talking about during Thanksgiving last year when I was made to sit at the kiddy table?” There weren’t even any kids in the family, currently, and yet you were made to sit by yourself at a table a foot too short for you. Fucking _ridiculous_. “And Kanaya’s mom ended up going red?” Kanaya’s mother was a glamorous middle eastern muslim woman, always adorned in the most beautiful jade green hijab decorated in jewellery and interwoven silver whirls, has consistently perfect eyeliner, and flawlessly threaded eyebrows, and had a surprisingly wicked sense of humour. For Roxy to render her blushing and speechless was a feat indeed. You had to give it to her, that shit wasn’t easy. “What did you even say?”

“My mother wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry, or do both at once.” Kanaya’s lips parted in a cheeky grin, it was obviously as funny for her as it was apparently funny for Rose and Roxy, because Roxy was pissing herself and Rose, ever the ice queen, was giggling like a teenager. Now, if only they would tell you what was so scandalously funny.

“Guys.”

No...no, they were just continuing to giggle like idiots. Cool.

  
Eventually they had calmed down enough for Rose to ask, “I’m..hahah...I’m correct in assuming that Bro pestered you earlier?” He was just Bro to everyone. You, Rose, the old woman who lived on the third floor of the apartment complex that was once your home, probably.

“How do you even _know_ that?” You whined, but of course she’d know. Those who had a weird...thing, going on. A ‘lets see how long it takes before we can collectively make Dave flip his shit’ thing.

“I have my sources.”

_And that is exactly what he said!_

“Yes, I did get a message from him earlier. What’s it to you?”

“What did it say?” She prompted.

“He wants me to go down to Texas for a week or so. Family reunion, or something. I think he’s becoming a lonely, senile old man.”

She nodded, and something almost unnoticeable flickered in her eyes. Almost. You caught it, and you knew that something was up. You didn’t know what, but, you’d find out. It’d be guaranteed to come around to bite you on the ass, even if you had nothing to do with it, directly. “Is that so?  What brought this on?”

“Hell if I know, like I said. He’s a lonely old man who’s probably only just realised he’s gotta make up for being sort of a dick.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. I’ve met Broderick, he’s the perfect gentleman.” Kanaya said. All three blonde heads turned to stare incredulously at the raven haired woman. Rose and Roxy may have been in league with Bro to make yours (and to some extent, Dirk’s) life a living hell, but they couldn’t try to deny that he wasn’t a prick.

“ _Yeeah_. Well. Anyway. It’s just a good thing I have fuck all else to do with my time, I can go down pretty much whenever.”

“Awwh. Is business slow?” Roxy asked sympathetically, pouting in a way that could have looked sarcastic, but with the genuinity in her voice and eyes made up for the action otherwise.

“Stagnant. About as active as a recently salted slug.” Like you said before, it was enough to live on without the money that Bro totally didn’t leave in your account every month, but it was starting to get difficult to buy all of the stuff you needed for your photography and have enough left to live comfortably. Who knew, though, with the snow coming up, perhaps there’d be some winter weddings that people might want to book you up for. Maybe.

 _Hopefully_.

  
“It’ll be _fiiine_! You ain’t gonna be outta work that easily, Davey!” Roxy reassured in that lovely, bubbly way of hers, and you swore it made you feel a fraction better. She was like that, though. In her group of friends at school (from what you remember; the Lalondes spent a time down in Texas with you, and she went through High School with Dirk, his boyfriend and their friend Jane) she was the mediator, she was the one who made everyone feel better and helped people through their problems. Even when she was drinking, she seemed to have a (moderately) level head on her shoulders.

“You can photograph our wedding, I’m sure we can work out a payment nearer the time.” Rose assured you, which made you feel slightly less reassured.

“Your wedding isn’t for another year and a half.”

“True,” Kanaya said. “But, you will do it, won’t you?” She asked. You smiled; ever the Southern Gentleman, and leaned across the table to take her hand.

“How could I ever say no to you, darlin’? Of course I’ll do it for one of my favourite girls.”

“Dave, stop trying to romance my fiancee.” Rose said, her face straight but her voice amused.

“Okay okay, got it, she’s yours. You’re not my type anyway, Maryam.” You retracted your arm and continued to eat your previously neglected spaghetti.

"Why? Do I lack the appropriate set of genitalia, Dave?" Kanaya asked, the faint hint of a grin on her otherwise innocent expression. The unexpected sentence made you choke on your food, and the three of them fell about laughing, Roxy patting your back and handing you your glass of juice to help the food go down without risk of falling back into your windpipe. Rose was no help, actually outwardly laughing at you now, and Kanaya was apologising with her own laughing fit going on.

Indeed you suffered, in the hands of these insufferable crones.

Once you had recovered (and it was a couple of minutes before you had), you answered her. “ _Fuckin_ '...have you been taking tips off of her?” You pointed accusingly at Rose. Kanaya used to be so nice, and then Rose got her claws into her. “Just ‘cause I’ve got a preference, doesn’t mean I’m exclusively this or that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. My apologies.” And yet, the woman was still giggling. “If it helps, girls were practically swooning around you in High School.”

You quirked your eyebrows. “They were?” Well, of course they were. It was you, Dave Strider, ladies man extraordinaire. Ladies man, man’s man and everybody else man. You were hot shit and everybody knew it. Apparently.

  
“Yes, of course! It is a shame you didn’t notice, really, but you were always hanging off of John and spending practically every waking moment with him, so I suppose that’s why.”

 _Ah_.

The sentence put you off your food, and you gripped your fork tighter in your hand, pressing your lips together and yet trying to look completely and utterly calm and composed. The mere mention of him shouldn’t do this to you, it had been six fucking years. Six years of anything but _him_. You stomach churned a little and your chest hurt. If you were none the wiser you’d say it was heartburn, or something.  
It probably was, what were you thinking, it couldn't be anything else! You probably had some heartburn relief pills at home, and--

“Well, that was surprisingly lovely, Roxy.” Rose interrupted your thoughts and cut off the previous John-related sentence. “There’s hope for you, yet.”

“You flatter me, Rosie!” Her grin was crinkled eyes and pearly teeth, and she spied at the plates before getting up. “Everybody finished?” At the nods, she collected up the plates in a stack, and you cleared your throat and stood up to signal your departure.

“It was great being here, but I’m afraid I’m’a have to hit up the ol’ dusty trail. Gotta get up at the crack of ass tomorrow to do a thing.”

“A thing?” Rose asked incredulously. You looked at her.

“Yeah.” You said curtly. “A _thing_.”

Another weird (concerned) expression flashed across her face and she nodded in return, a softer gesture, and she stood up herself. “You will remember to call whilst you’re in Texas, won’t you?”

“I won’t even be able to get away from you there, huh?” A smirk graced your features, but despite the easy going expression Rose still didn’t look convinced.

“No, you won’t. Think of me as your own personal demon, Dave Strider.”

“I couldn’t’ve got a less snarky one?”

“You’re going?” Roxy came back from the kitchen, unladen by the plates, and pouted. “What’s so important that you have to skip out of hanging out with your favourite girls?”

“ _A thing_.” Rose supplied, and Roxy nodded as if she understood. She probably did.

“You go do your thing, Strider! Places to see, people to be! You’re a busy, busy man!”

“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes-”

“Shush, I know what I’m saying. Shoot me a message in the week, sweetie, ‘kay?” She reached forward and pressed a bright, lipsticked kiss onto your cheek. You didn’t rub it off, fuck that. You’d wear that shit like a champ. Or until you got outside, at least.

“Will do, can’t forget about the illustrious Roxy Lalonde, can I?” Your smile widened a fraction and that just made her own increase tenfold.

“Ya’ can’t afford to.” She winked (wonked) and patted your clean cheek, before Rose and Kanaya stepped up to give you their own hugs and kisses. Kanaya looked guilty, as if it was her fault you were leaving. It was, but she didn’t do it knowingly. No one really knew about the John situation, except probably Bro and possibly Rose.

“Goodbye, ladies.” You fought dropping your grin as you turned to walk out, and you put on your coat and gave a short salute to them before leaving.

Maybe getting away would take your mind off of things, work and otherwise. Being at home and just relaxing might give you an opportunity to think about the future in a calmer way. And it’d be nice to see everyone back in Texas, and just hang out and catch up on all the memories, and what happened when you were gone. It’d be nice, you were determined to enjoy yourself even if it killed you.   
  
Besides, even if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be there for very long, would you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the heck is that conniving punk of a Bro planning, and why does Rose know about it
> 
> Follow my tumblr at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!!


	3. A Legitimate Dilemma Involving Luncheon Meats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which John Is Left On His Own. Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL, LOOK WHO FINALLY FUCKIN' SHOWS UP.
> 
> I think it's important for you all to know that every time people put kudos on or bookmark this fic, I check out their profile to see if they have any good fics, and I'll spend half an hour reading them  
> I get especially excited when a user who's written a fic that I really enjoyed reading gives my fic kudos, I have a little fan moment to myself /u\

When you woke up, it was still dark. The scent of sex still clung to the air and your bed was warm with the gentle body heat radiating off of the both of you. You blinked blearily, yawning quietly so as not to disturb Dave, and rubbed your left eye with the arm not trapped underneath your body. You felt sated, still a little fuckdrunk, and you took a long breath through your nose and sighed it out. A glance to your bedside table indicated that it was 11:52 PM-- you hadn’t been asleep that long, your dad was probably staying overnight at his lady friend’s house and everyone you knew was probably asleep. Dave, too, probably, judging by how quiet he was being.  
You needed to talk to him. Discuss how your ‘arrangement’ was going to work once you went to different colleges. Naturally, you’d probably get a girlfriend, and so would Dave, but...you liked what you had going on! It was fun, felt natural, and you had yet to find a girl who was as good at sucking and riding your dick as Dave was. And, have you seen that face he makes when he comes? Fucking beautiful. You should take a picture and keep it on your phone. Not to jerk off to, obviously! Just to keep, and maybe tease Dave with. You _weren’t_ gay.

“Hey, Dave?” You said quietly. Your tongue felt a little thick from sleep in your mouth, and you coughed a few times to clear your throat and get rid of the weird huskiness in your voice. “Dave?”

No answer. He must have been asleep. He always tended to sleep like a dead man after stuff like this, and not wake up until almost midday next morning, walking downstairs with the slightest of limps and a disorientated expression, punching you hard in the arm when you snickered at the dark hickeys on his neck and throat. He wasn’t allowed to leave any above the collar on you, it was a rule. You couldn’t let anyone know you were sleeping with a guy. Obviously because that would raise speculation that you were into guys, which you weren’t. It was just that you needed relief, and Dave was willing to supply you with his services.

God, that made him sound like a hooker, or something.

  
“Daaave.” You tried again, louder this time. “Earth to Dave, are you awake?” You asked. You were the kind of person who, when you were up, everyone else had to be up. Sure, it was kind of selfish, but you usually had cool and interesting things to say, and talk about! Like now. “Dave, c’mon, wake up--” You reached over behind you to pat him and-- were met with empty space, and your hand falling to the bed.

It was then in your half-asleep haze that you panicked. His side was still warm, like he hadn’t been gone a long time, and when you turned over the sheets were ordered, rather than rumpled and strewn across the place like yours were.

It was okay. Maybe...maybe he went to the bathroom. Yeah, that had to be it! Where else would he be aside from the bathroom?

It was after ten minutes of waiting that something began to feel a bit off. You sat up, squinted around in the darkness, and felt around on your bedside table for your glasses. As if they could help you in the dark, but whatever.  
Maybe him leaving the room was what woke you up? You weren’t an especially light sleeper, but you always had a habit of waking up when Dave moved about in the night.

“Dave?” You called, a little louder. You didn’t worry about the possibility of waking anyone up-after all, your dad was out, and your sister had already left to go back to college a few days prior. As far as you were concerned, it was only you and Dave awake and conscious in the house. Now, if only he’d fucking _answer_ you.  
Leaning over to flick on the light, you turned to his side of the bed and blinked blearily at it. It was as if he hadn’t slept at all, there. Which didn’t exactly worry you as such, he tended to stay awake for a while after you doing God know’s what. But what did worry you was when you turned to place your feet on the floor, and didn’t see his clothes anywhere. “ _Dave_??”

God, you sounded so desperate. Maybe he was...washing his clothes? Yeah, sure, why not? You got up and tugged on a new pair of underwear, running through the possible scenarios in your head as to what he could be doing, carefully avoiding the one where he just up and left without saying goodbye. Because, he wouldn’t do that, would he?

No, no of course not.

Dave’s your best friend in the world (even with all the sex), he had been since you were eleven! You shared everything, you knew all of each other’s secrets! There wasn’t anything you hid from each other, and you were glad! Why would he ever leave?

You got up and left your room, peeking around the doors and calling his name, getting increasingly more distressed and upset the more and more likely it became that he did in fact fuck off out of here.

  
He was nowhere to be found.

You guess you knew that after half an hour of searching, and yet after another half hour of sitting around with your thumb up your ass you still clung to the hope that maybe he’d be right back. Right?

 _  
Right_.

  
You had an idea.

You rushed up the stairs (at this point all lethargy had left your body) and took your phone, charging on your desk, and you selected his number from your phone book, pressing the device to your ear and waiting eagerly for the dial tone,

And it rang.

And rang.

And.

Rang.

And then- _click_.

“Sup, it’s Dave-”

“Dave! God, you’re there, where are you-”

“-obviously I’m not here, so you know what to do. Leave your message after that sweet, sweet beep and I’ll probably maybe not get back to you. Depends. Ciao.” And then the beep, You hung up with an annoyed sigh and dialed again.

It just kept ringing out and by the third or sixth or eighth or fifteenth time (you weren’t sure, you lost count) you had to leave a message, lest you sound like an asshole.

“-Leave your message after that sweet, sweet beep and I’ll probably maybe not get back to you. Depends. Ciao.”

Beep.

“Hey, Dave! Um.” If there was a telephone cord, you’d be twirling it around your finger as you spoke. “Just wondering where you are, I guess? I mean, I assume you went back home. You’re not here and your clothes are gone. Probably on you right now, I guess. Hahah.” You cleared your throat and sat back down on your bed. “We should probably talk before we head off! We’ve gotta talk about how our thing is gonna work out, y’know? Anyways, call me back!” You hung up. You were never good at talking on the phone and that naturally was no exception.  You were more of a face to face kind of guy. Dave was the one who adored the impersonality of technology.

You just didn’t get it.

You dialed again. And once again, got the answering machine. “Hey, Dave. I don’t know if you got my last message or not? But, call me back. Like I said, I’m just kind of wondering where you are, since you’re clearly not in the house, right now.” At this point you were panicking a little- you didn’t know where he was, and he wasn’t answering his phone, just letting it ring. What if he had left, and gotten hurt, or kidnapped or- what if he was dead!? He probably hadn’t, he was a strong guy, so you tried not to let your concern show. “Call me!” You hung up, and you tried not to be concerned, but...oh, God.

He might have wanted some extra time to pack, or something! So he left early!

Maybe?

Fuck, you didn’t know, but you were wracking your brain for the answer and it just wouldn’t come to you.

He was fine. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

  
You were still up by the time your father had returned, eyeing your half naked form sat at the dining table as he entered the kitchen. You were staring at your phone, low on battery and with no evidence of it ringing or chiming any time soon, you finally put it down and pushed it away. With those two voicemails and countless more texts sent to Dave, you were beginning to recognise that, yeah, you were worried. You were worried as hell.

“Son?”

“Oh,” You yawned. “Hi Dad.”

“How long have you been up?” He asked. He took his hat off and hung it on the hook on the side of the wall. “It’s strange to see you up this early on a weekend.” You looked at the clock and-yep, it had only just gone 8. Normally you’d be just waking up after this time on a Saturday. You guess you just forgot to be tired.

“I, uh… I forgot to go to sleep?” It was half true, and with the apologetic smile you gave him he rolled his eyes and said no more about it.

“I saw David setting off today. A bit odd, I could have sworn the two of you were both leaving on Monday…” That caught your attention and you blinked, trying to comprehend what he said as he continued. He poured the both of you a coffee (cream and one sugar) and sat down, pushing your mug towards you.“It’s amazing, you’re all going to college and getting jobs and growing up. I’m so very proud of you-”

“Wait, _what_?”

“I’m proud of you.” He repeated, hardly put off by your outburst. He was, after all, used to stuff like that from you.

“No, before then. He’s leaving for college _today_?”

“He’s left for college, I saw his older brother...Broderick? I saw him driving him off. Didn’t you know about this, son?”

So that’s where he was. He was leaving. Without saying goodbye.

He was leaving without saying goodbye.

Frankly, you felt betrayed, and fucking hurt.

“No,” You said, quietly. “I didn’t.”

  
He didn’t press you for details. Perhaps he knew that this was bothering you, and he respected your privacy. That was good, your father getting too far into your private life would result in his making assumptions. Incorrect assumptions about your sexuality (in which you were very secure, thank you very much!) and who you wanted to spend your life with. And you couldn’t deal with that, not right now.

You drank your coffee in silence. Which, you quickly found out, was a terrible idea. The silence was pregnant with tension (all amongst yourself and your thoughts, of course, your father had nothing to do with it) and you were alone to seethe and grieve over the loss of your best friend. How could he be so selfish? He didn’t even say goodbye. Who does something like that?

  
_Dave fucking Strider, apparently._

  
And yet, you still wanted to talk to him, to hang out with him. Even when he wasn’t there you found it difficult to forget about him, and so you attempted to salvage any form of friendship you could from the young man, sending him Christmas and Birthday messages, messages on his brothers’ birthdays and on the lesser holidays, until one day you you just...forgot. And forgetting about it, and him, felt good. You felt happier. Forgetting about and erasing every trace of Dave from your life was good for you. You were doing better at your subjects-- you were studying to become a marine biologist, and you were aceing practically everything-- you got back together with Vriska, got your own apartment, and you were happy.

Happy, happy, happy.

 _  
Mostly_.

 

* * *

 

It was difficult to decide what to go with.

Ham, or chicken? You were were having a legitimate dilemma here, and the impatient old lady next to you was NOT helping your dilemma.

_  
Do you mind, old lady? I’m trying to choose my luncheon meat, here. I’m a marine biologist, I could show you things in the ocean that would make you shit yourself if you mess with me. Do not test me, woman._

  
Obviously you said this in your head, but you hoped the scathing look you gave the back of her head made it clear enough what you were thinking.

“Are you evil eye-ing old people without me, again?” Came a voice behind you. You turned with a grin down at your girlfriend.

“Me? No. I’m just trying to see how hard I can concentrate to make her head explode.” You put your fingers to your temples and pretended to concentrate deeply, and Vriska laughed, pushing you a little too hard to get you to stop.

“Why was she giving you bitchy looks? Did you insult her stupid parka?”

“No, I was trying to decide between ham and chicken, but she didn’t seem to understand that there are strategic decisions that I’m making. So,” You picked the packets back up. “Ham or chicken?”

“Bologna."

"That wasn't part of the choice, I don't even like bologna."

"Yeah, but I do."

You frowned at her as she pointedly dropped it in the shopping cart. "That's not fair."

"Life's not fair, and then you die. Might as well get used to it, John~"

There was no point arguing with her. She was right, you supposed. But it still sucked.  
You huffed but relented. There was no point arguing with her about it, because you know you’d ultimately lose the discussion and she’d get her way anyway. She always did. You carried on shopping.

  
By the time you had finished, the two of you had cultivated way more shopping than you needed, most of it being Vriska’s choice rather than your own. She didn’t even live with you! But, she wasn’t making any hints about wanting to move in, and you weren’t sure you were ready for something like that either. She stayed over sometimes, and you stayed over hers, and that suited you fine.

The spotty teen at the cash register scanned all of your items, you paid, and you left the shop.  
You liked shopping. It was fun going around the store, picking up stuff you didn’t really need, as well as stuff you did need, for as cheap as you could manage. Vriska wasn’t making it very easy for you to do that, though. But it was okay, you didn’t mind.

  
Walking to your apartment was a short journey, carrying thin plastic bags full of shopping that cut into your hands between you and exchanging idle chit chat between you until you got back.

“We should steal a shopping cart, that way we won’t have to carry all of these fucking bags to your apartment every week.” She said as you finally managed to unlock your door, and she dropped the bags on the kitchen floor, rubbing her hands together.

“I’m not going to steal a shopping cart, you kleptomaniac.” You placed the bags you were carrying more ceremoniously onto the floor beside the first bags and leaned against the counter. “Besides, we have to walk up a slope, can you imagine trying to push a cart up that slope?”

“It still sounds better than almost getting my fingers severed by those bags. Bag for life my ass.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to begin making coffee. When you asked Vriska out again, she was more than happy to agree. Thrilled even, almost as if the fact that she was the one who dumped you in the first place had conveniently slipped her mind. You slipped into the routine you had before almost too easily- she would tease and make fun of you, and you would put up with it, for the most part. You were half convinced that the times where you said something in regards to her behaviour was the only reason she actually stayed with you. You were far more interesting than her previous other lays.

"Black, no sugars." She reminded you.

"Yeah," You said. "I know." You prepared your own at the same time- with cream and a single sugar. You didn't understand how she could drink it straight black, it was far too bitter for you to ever do that. You figured she did it because she wanted to look grown up, not because she actually liked it.

  
Placing the mugs down on the table away from the counter, you sat down across from where she had taken a seat. Vriska took the mug without thanks but with a small smile, and drank, staring at you when she put down her coffee. "John."

"Vriska."

“I have some news!” Good news presumably, judging by the way she was smiling at you. You nodded at her with an encouraging smile, urging her to continue.

“What is it?...You’re not...you’re not _pregnant_ , are you?” You half-joked. You dreaded the possibility- you loved kids, you were great with them, you just weren't ready to have your own.

“What? No. We’d be terrible parents.” _Rude_. “No, I got a job.”

“You already have a job.”

And she did. She was practically born into the job she currently had- Her mom was a high end bank CEO at the bank’s headquarters in New Jersey, and when she left college she had a quick and easy rise to power to become the district manager of a small branch in your city in less than two years.You, however, had to work for your career. Whilst she pretty much went to become the head of the branch quicker than you noticed, you climbed slowly and painfully. It was unsurprisingly difficult for you to find a decently paying job in the field of marine biology, but you managed it. You got a job at the large aquarium in the city, and was asked two or three times a year to go down to Port Arthur to study some of the marine life they had there. Of course, you didn’t get paid nearly as much as Vriska did, hence the constant bargain buying, but it was alright. Provided Vriska stopped buying shit that you weren’t gonna eat.

“I know! It’s a better one. A higher paying one.”

“Oh, so they’re giving you a promotion?”

“Fuck yeah,” She grinned over her coffee and took a sip. “Mom says I’m ‘destined for great things’. I could’ve told her that, but whatever. She’s just making it easy for me. We’re going to move up to New Jersey so I can work at the main bank!”

Wait... _We’re_? As in, the _two_ of you? “New Jersey? That’s the other side of the country!”

“So?” She shrugged, as if it wasn’t a huge fucking deal. “You can move, right?”

“I have a job, Vriska! A pretty important job!”

“You stand around rock pools playing noughts and crosses on your notepad while you’re supposed to be taking notes on barnacles, or something. It’s hardly important.”

  
Wow, _okay_. First of all, how _dare_ she. That was fucking rude. “It’s more than that, frankly I’m offended that you’d say something like that!”

“Whatever. You can get another job up in New Jersey.” Vriska flapped her hand and rolled her eyes, like it was trivial, or something. Maybe it was to her, but it sure as fuck wasn't to you!

“No I can’t, my family lives here! I have a good job here, plenty of friends, an apartment here! I’m not prepared to just leave! Have you even thought about this?”

“Yeah.” She said sharply, making you sit back in surprise. You didn’t like it when she took that tone with you- it meant she was gonna shout at you, or try to start an argument. “In fact, I’ve already said yes, I’m leaving in a week. So you either come with _me_ , or stay _here_.”

  
“Fine. I’ll stay here.” You weren’t going to move just like that! You would do a lot for Vriska, but not that.

“Fine!” She echoed back at you, though louder and a lot more violently, and she stood up.

“Fine!”

She stood up, picking up the coffee mug and all but throwing it in the sink when she walked to it, probably breaking it. “I’m going out and I’m taking the car!”

“That’s _my_ car!” You protested, standing up. By that time she was getting her jacket on and fishing her glasses out of the pocket.

“I know, and it’s a fucking piece of shit car!”

You held your tongue, and just angrily (and sort of helplessly) watched her pick up the car keys from the dish in the hallway and slam the front door behind her, making the pictures on the wall shake a little.

  
 _Huh_.

_So much for a relaxing cup of coffee._

  
You couldn't believe this. Couldn’t she think to talk to you about it first? Sure, it was her job, but she was expecting to drag you along for it, without any consideration for how you might need to get by in terms of a place to live and a job. She would always do this, and it was really inconsiderate! You sighed frustratedly and picked up your mug, put off of the beverage both by the argument and the realisation that one of your best cups was lying smashed in the bottom of the sink. _Great_. Now there was an odd number of nice mugs.

 _  
She had better pick up a new set, while she’s out_ , you thought bitterly.

  
That’s if she was going to come back, that is.

Another sigh, and you set to work with cleaning up the mess she made with your poor cup, very nearly cutting yourself on the china, and pouring away the rest of your own still warm coffee. You couldn’t drink when you were wound up like this.  
You spent the next few hours watching your cult favourites with an ordered out pizza and a couple of beers, finding solace in your blue collared action heroes and their beautiful love interests. Like Liz Tyler...Yeah, you sure did _love_ a blonde.

You ended up turning in at about eleven. By then your anger had passed through to worry for where Vriska was, and despite two or three calls it went straight to voicemail, and you had little other choice but to go to bed. It wasn’t the first time she had done this, but it was no less daunting that maybe, she could be gone for good this time.

  
Your worries proved unnecessary at around 1 AM, when the door to the bedroom opened and you cracked an eye open to see her silently strip off her clothes to leave her in her underwear and a camisole, and climb into bed with you, wrapping her arms around your waist and resting her head on your chest after a moment’s hesitation. She was sorry, even if she’d never admit it.

“...Are you sure you want to stay?” She asked.

You took a heavy breath, and nodded. “Are you sure you want to go?”

She nodded in return. “There aren’t any jobs going in marine biology  in New Jersey anyway, I checked before I came back. So you’d just be sat around with your thumb up your ass, waiting for me to get back home...you could be a housewife for me?”

You laughed quietly, your voice still a bit odd from the light sleep you were recently knocked out of. “I’m sorry. Thank you for looking, I’m just happy here.”

“I need bigger opportunities.” She replied, and it was quiet for a while.

“...Does this mean we’re breaking up?”

She looked up. “Do you want to break up with me?”

“No! Definitely not. Do you?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to deny you of being the sole claimant of this booty. That’d be mean.” She was half joking, but you hoped it was true. You didn’t want her to cheat on you. You had enough trouble the last time, and you were devastated. It was just a good thing that last time…

_  
You know, thinking about something like that is probably the worst thing while in bed with your girlfriend, genius._

  
“Good. Likewise...I love you?” It sounded more like a question than a statement, but you hoped it didn’t come across like that. You just wanted to know if it was okay to say. You didn’t say it often, it still felt weird on your tongue.

“Love you. Go to sleep, Egdork.” Vriska reached up to ruffle your hair, and hugged you tighter, and you felt a little more reassured, if a lot more lonely in the days to come.

* * *

  
  
It was three days after Vriska left for New Jersey when you got a phone call. When Vriska left, you drove her down to the airport at four in the morning (that was difficult even for you, the resident morning person. For Vriska, it was torture) kissing her long and tenderly before she went through the gates, and watching her walk away with a single wave, and you felt a little sadder than you did before she left. You drove home and immersed yourself in paperwork, getting all your work done in the space of a day and a half, whereas with Vriska as a distraction, it would get done...never. You missed her already, but you couldn’t call or text her because she was on the plane up to New Jersey. You ended up meeting with Jade and Jake, your cousins, once, and going to eat dinner at your father’s house with him and Jane. It was, all in all, a dreary existence.

That is, until the phone call.

  
You had just got out of the shower when the phone rang on your bed, You sat down, the condensation running down your tanned skin and soaking into the fluffy white towel wrapped around your waist when it got to the small of your back. You answered the phone and pressed it to your ear. “Hello?”

“Egbert, hey.” There was something about that voice that was really, really familiar to you, and it threw you a bit.

“Who is this?”

“Bro. Look, are you busy on Saturday?”

 _Bro_.

Yeah, you knew him. ‘Knew’, being the understatement, you used to have sex with his younger brother, your once-best friend, when he was in the next room! You were pretty sure he had no idea about that, but the thought still made your head ache. You didn’t really want to remember _him_ at all, let alone, in that situation…

Ugh, you needed to stop _thinking_ about it.

“Oh, hey! Um, no. I don’t think so, why?”

“I need to shift some shit in my apartment, I wondered if you were free.” Okay, this was weird. He hadn’t spoken to you properly in about six years, and suddenly out of nowhere, this? There was something fishy going on, here. “I’ve already asked Dirk and Jake, they’re already doing something else.” You recall Jake telling you they were going paint balling or something. Dirk better have his wits about him if he expects to beat your cousin of all people at something involving guns.

“Really? I mean; this is kind of out of nowhere.” You were starting to get cold, so you propped the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you began to awkwardly locate a clean pair of boxers from your drawer.

“I know, normally I wouldn’t call, but it’s kinda urgent that you come.”

“...Alright? Me specifically?”

“You specifically. Can’t do it without you, kid.” God, he was so weird. You were hardly a kid. You were a grown up, and you did grown up things. Like pay bills.

“...Fine.” Your dad always said, never deny a person help if they request it, and your dad’s a smart guy. “Saturday, was it?”

“Yup, Saturday. Make sure you’re there. Before two, preferably. No later than half two.” You never liked to be late to things, so it’d probably be two at the latest.

“Okay, I’ll be there. What did you want help moving?”

“Turntables, probably.”

“Probably?”

“I gotta run, I’m a busy man. Say hi to your Dad for me.”

“Uh, okay?”

“Catch you Saturday, Egbert.” You didn’t have time to say goodbye before he dropped the call and you were stood there in your underwear listening to the dial tone before it occurred to you that you probably needed to get dressed.

* * *

 

Alright, this was ridiculous.You were sat in the living room of Bro’s apartment. Alone. You hadn’t been there for at least six years, perhaps a little longer. It was exactly the same as it was all those years ago, with the wires strewn about the floor, and the huge flat screen television, the swords and smuppets (you still didn’t understand them) and the turntables in the corner of the room. The turntables which, coincidentally, you were supposed to be moving before Bro decided to leave on an ‘urgent errand’. What it involved, you weren’t sure, but he said he’d be back soon. In the mean time, you were to hang out, and not accidentally kill yourself with one of the spring loaded cupboards in the kitchen. No worries, you replied to him, you learned long ago not to go into that kitchen without a sturdy shield. Normally Dave, much to his protest.

 _Dave_.

You didn’t make a habit of thinking of him, but when you did, you got vaguely annoyed. You still couldn’t believe he left without saying goodbye! How selfish did you have to be to just do that? You were surprised it still bothered you as much as it did-- you needed to let it go, even if he was kind of a huge jerk for doing it for absolutely no reason.

You relaxed a little on the couch. It was new, you noticed; at least, new to you. Bro must’ve got it after you left for college. Good job too, what with the stuff you and Dave got up to on it, it was beyond redemption.

You couldn’t think of this now, it was a different time. It was fun, but it was just hormonal, and you moved on.

The door to the apartment clicked open from down the hall. That must have been Bro. About time, too! You were starting to get bored, it was about time you got to work with moving these turntables. You stood from the couch and moved to the door to the hallway. “So are we going to get to moving these turntables-”

  
Okay, that was the wrong blonde.

  
You knew that blonde, but he was the _wrong_ blonde. His hair was smooth, rather than under a cap, and his shades were rounder, rather than weird anime triangles, he was a little leaner in the body, and shorter. He wasn’t Bro, but he was definitely a Strider.

He had a stronger jaw, a more toned body, the overall signs that he had definitely aged, but at the same time, he was exactly the same. The same cheekbones, same freckles, same thin lips.

Same Dave.

It was _Dave_.

 _Your_ Dave.

  
“...Dave?” You said. The surprise was evident between the two of you, shared by the both of you. He clearly didn’t expect you here either, judging by the way his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows raised, and he practically froze in the middle of the hallway. Your surprise made way for indignation and your voice became harder, as if you had more of a right to be here than he did. “Where the _fuck_ have you been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're clever, you might see some parallels in this chapter and the previous chapter in regards to what Dave and John say.
> 
> Follow me at porrimsfestivepantyhose.tumblr.com!!


	4. What The Fuck Are You Doing Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dave Needs A Drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! Have some angst!

Oh no.  
  


Oh no, no, _no_.  
  


No, this couldn’t be happening.  
  


This was _not_ happening.

  
What was _he_ doing here? This was _your_ apartment--well, Bro’s, but you had hell of a lot more right to be here than he did-- and he wasn’t welcome here, as far as you were concerned.

 

“...Dave?” He was looking at you as if you were a mirage, like something he hadn’t seen for years. Of which half was true; you had left his house in the middle of the night without so much as a goodbye or a look over your shoulder once you left his room.

He...he looked the same. Different, but the same. Same impossibly clear light brown skin, same stupid windswept black hair, and those same impossible ultramarine eyes. It was like nostalgia slapped you around the face with a wet towel and told you to look closer at him and what you left behind. At the same time as staying the same, he has changed drastically. His jaw was squarer, his shoulders were broader, and where he had about an inch on you in the height department back when you were both eighteen, he had crept far past six foot in the time you had been absent. You estimated that he had to be about six foot, which totally wasn’t fair, you had far since given up hoping that you’d be any taller than five foot ten a long time ago, but looking at him made you wish you had at least something to excel at in regards to your looks. In short, he was even more irritatingly, ridiculously, stupidly good looking than he previously was. And you bet he fucking _knew_ it, too.

There you were, standing like a fucking moron in the middle of the hallway, still holding onto the handle of your suitcase and staring at him, mouth open and jaw slacked like you were attempting to catch flies. You weren’t sure what was worse. The fact that he was there, or the painful, stretching silence that followed between you two. It didn’t look like he was sure, either.

And yet, as he looked at you with a sudden expression that could only be described as anger, he broke the thick, suffocating pause.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been.”  
  


And there it was. The flagrant (and frankly, undeserved) anger that he sure as fuck did not deserve to be directing your way. What right did he have to speak to you like that? Did he have his metaphorically heart ripped from his chest and pointedly stamped on? Did he think that what they had was a lie, because the other denied any and all feelings? No. That was you, every time John went out of his way to fuck the next skirt that he had his eye on. Like what you two had meant nothing.

_Which, of course, it didn’t._

  
“...What are you doing here?” You replied, barely skipping a beat and gripping the handle of your suitcase a fraction tighter.

“Your brother asked me to help move some stuff.” He said, like it was perfectly natural for him to do something like that. Which, by the way, it fucking wasn’t. As far as you were aware Bro hadn’t spoken to John for the duration of your absence, and visa versa. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I’m here because this is Bro’s apartment, and he welcomed me here to stay.”

“I’m surprised you willingly came back, seeing as you were so determined to _leave_ back then.” Ouch, spiteful. Again, like he had the fucking right to say something like that. Tool.

“So? I didn’t have to check it was cool with you to leave, did I? Did you want, like, a memo, or a text, or something? ‘ _bee tee dubs I’m leaving a few days early el oh el smiley face love from Dave ex ex ex_ ’? Would somethin’ like that have placated the apparent shitty mood you’ve landed yourself in?”

“I wouldn’t have cared that much about it if you hadn’t have ignored all of my texts all those years!”

“You’re not my fucking keeper, _John_.” It had been a long time since you had addressed John by his name. When you did talk to him, you would always called him dude, or bro, or by some variant of his surname. Very rarely was it John, aside from in the heat of passion or when you were specifically upset or pissed with him. Like now.

“I would have thought you were dead if not for Rose telling me you were studying at the same college as her! What the hell is wrong with you?” Like a true Egbertian temper tantrum, his voice has risen an octave in his frustration, and you would have laughed if you weren’t annoyed yourself. “You ignored all of my texts because...fuck, I don’t know! Because you’re mad at me, for some reason, and you were having a tantrum?”

You scoffed. “I can’t believe you don’t fucking know, after...what, six years? How fucking _dense_ are you?”

He made a short, indignated sound close to a grunt and he took a step forward. Against your instincts and better judgement you stood your ground, letting go of your case to cross your arms against your chest. You were sure you probably looked pathetic doing that, but from the way John frowned at you, that most likely wasn’t the case. Good. “I’m not dense! You’re just being shitty for no reason, as per usual!” His voice was a little louder now.

“Excuse me?” You raised the sassiest of eyebrows and you found that your voice had raised too. “How can you just assume that I’m being shitty? What jurisdiction do you have to say that I’m being shitty? You’re the shitty one here, especially since you’re shouting at me in my own _home_!”

“You made it pretty clear that Texas wasn’t your home when you fucked off all those years ago without so much as a goodbye!”

“Like you fucking cared, you had plenty else to distract you when I was gone in the form of skirts and newer, shinier friends.”

“Do you think that you meant so little to me that I’d _drop_ you as soon as you _left_?” You know that that wasn’t the case exactly, but you were annoyed and you found that you were still hurting, and like fuck were you going to drop it.

“You made it clear how little I meant to you long before I left!”

“And what is _that_ supposed to mean?”  
  


You could have almost applauded how ignorant and dense he was. Sure, your feelings weren’t obvious (you thought) but you didn’t think that John was that dense, and after sleeping with him countless times you’d have sworn he’d be able to realise how shitty he was making you feel. After all, though you could hide your emotions, you weren’t that great an actor. It just showed how little a shit he actually gave about you.

You didn’t answer him, you only let the expanse of quietness fill the hallway, and you kept eye contact through your shades like a challenge to him, breathing through your nose and keeping your jaw fixed and tight. You wanted him to feel like you were feeling, like a trapped, frightened animal in a cage. You didn’t like confrontation, and this was definitely no exception. You didn’t want to show how nervous you were feeling about all of this.

  
You considered leaving. After all, the door was only a meter away, and with your flash stepping (though it was sort of rusty after not living with Bro for so long) it would take you barely more than a second to grab your case and be out of the door. But then what? You’d be more or less stranded in Texas (you supposed you could talk to Jade about staying with her, but John was her cousin and you hadn't spoken to her in just as long, so she might be angry at you, or something), with a limited amount of money, a case full of expensive clothes, and an internal compass that probably needed updating. Besides, if you left now, that’d be admitting defeat to John. It’d be like saying that he had more right to be in Bro’s apartment than you did, and you were not going to let that be the case-

You barely heard the front door click open, and you turned to find your brother already in the hallway and standing behind you. It took all you had not to flinch at the closeness and you scowled at him as best as you could whilst looking as straight faced as physically possible.

  
“Aw, hey. You made it, man.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder and quirked his brow at you with a grin, looking back up at the current bane of your existence at the other end of the hallway. “I guess you two’re gettin’ reacquainted?”

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” You asked (rather, demanded). You didn’t bother to hush your voice, because as far as you were concerned now was less the time for pleasantries and more the time for explaining what was happening. “What is _he_ doing here?”

“ _He_ has a _name_ , jackass.”

Oh yeah, your mistake. “My apologies. What is this _vexatious prick_ doing here?” You hoped he was scowling at that. Fucking scowl away, jerk off.

“Helping me move the turntables.” He replied. What, just like that? He couldn’t have done it a few hours before you arrived, or even better, asked you to help instead? What was even fucking up with that?

“I could have helped you, you didn’t have to ask anyone else to.” He moved past you; his walk-or should you say swagger- was just as cocky and confident as the last time you came over, as it had always been as he went down the hallway.

“It had to be John, no one else.” He replied coolly, slipping into the living room and leaving the two of you alone in the hallway again. “You two gonna stand there like a pair o’ jackasses, or are you gonna make use of those things dangling from your ass and walk?”

John looked back at you with an expression filled with borderline disgust and disdain before he too walked into the living room.

Well, you supposed it would make sense to follow them into the room rather than standing here with your thumb up your ass waiting for something better to come along. So, you did, leaving your case in the hallway to pick up later. You sat carefully on the opposite side of the couch to John, noticing through the brief glance at him through your mirrored shades that he was pointedly looking away from you like a fucking child, so you did the exact same, propping your elbow onto the arm of the couch and resting your chin on your fist, finding the weird ass smuppets hanging from the wall infinitely more interesting than the two assholes sitting on the couch in the forms of Bro and John.

“Did’ya wanna help heave them turntables, John?” Bro broke the silence (there were a lot of awkward silences occurring in a very short space of time) and stood with a barely audible grunt, and you could hear the younger man stand a moment later.

“Sure, that’d be great, Where did you want help moving them to?”

  
You stood again. You had better things to do than see them move a heavy piece of shit about (you lied, those turntables were a godsend and you knew it), and as far as you were concerned, you needed a drink for your ordeal. You could feel eyes on the back of your head as you left the room. The moment you left the room you felt better, even if not by much. Talk about setting off on a bad foot, even if he did totally deserve getting the shit ripped out of him like you fully intended to do, if not for Bro coming in and completely ruining it for you.

  
You entered the kitchen.  
  
  
You had long weaned yourself off of the lukewarm beer that Bro kept under the pretty much defunct sink after moving to New York and getting a real, working fridge free of swords (although you did for a short time keep the kitchen knives in the salad compartment of the fridge making Karkat, your roommate through college, routinely flip his shit at you. You kept doing it after the first few times only because it was funny when he got pissed), so you had to stop yourself from going to open the fridge, because of the swords you just knew were in there. You did not want to get sliced up due to your own forgetfulness, thank you very much. It took you a few seconds to find the crate of beer stored in the cupboard underneath the sink, and pulled a bottle from the cardboard packaging, placing it on the counter. In the living room you could hear your brother cursing quietly, but John was stauchingly silent. It was a little unnerving, actually. For as long as you knew him he was loud, almost obnoxiously so, he always made his presence known with his laughter and near constant smiles. It was alien to see him so... _angry_ , at you.

  
_Ugh_.

  
You shouldn’t have come back. It was a stupid fucking mistake on your part. Why was he even here, anyway? Why did Bro choose now to invite him-

_  
..._

_That fucker_.  
  
  
He had planned this all along, hadn't he?!

Get you down to Texas to make you meet up with John and work out your problems and end up being like happy fucking families again. You didn't even /have/ family reunions! Yours was the most introverted, weird and unconventional family unit you had heard of, and that was just immediate family! The Lalondes, your cousins, were just as bad, the crazy cat ladies.  

You remembered Rose convincing you on more than one occasion to call John back, to maybe just...'pick up the phone for once, he's hurting, Dave'. Well, so were you. And Rose didn't even know what it was about, in what reality did she have a right to dictate what you should and shouldn't do, especially when she didn't have a clue what the situation was!

  
"I didn't think you'd remember where I kept that." Your gaze snapped up to meet Bro's, who stood a metre away from you in the kitchen. Damn, you were losing your touch, you didn't even hear him come in. "Shame it's not cold." He moved closer, pulling two bottles from the crate for himself, and you supposed John. Great, so he'd be staying longer. "Still, if I kept it in the fridge where would I keep my swords?"  
  
"What the fuck is your problem?!"

"Hey man, my swords, I can do what I like with 'em, and keep ‘em where I want ‘em."  
  
"No, shut up!" He was just being deliberately difficult, as per fucking usual. "You know exactly what I'm talking about!"

“I’m sure I have _no clue_ what you’re talkin’ about, Dave.”

“Don’t _bullshit_ me!” He looked at you with an expression half amused and half cautionary, and he twisted the cap off of his own bottle, placing the other on the table beside him. “Why did you ask him to come here?”

“I needed help moving the tables.” He said, tipping the bottle to his lips. Bro brought it back down and looked over his stupid shades at you, pointedly and knowingly. “But, seeing as he’s here, why don’t ya’ go talk to him? I reckon you’ve got some catchin’ up to do.”

Of _course_ he knew, there was no question that Bro was mostly, if not entirely clued in on the situation through the things that either you or John may have let slip, his own creepy sleuthing and tendency to have the odd video camera in the kitchen (the thought made you shudder; you prayed to any god that was listening that he hadn’t had them on at any point when you and John were in there) and whatever common sense and intuition he may have plucked from his ass.

“He’s probably leaving soon, there’d be no point. Nah, I’m good here. Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Dave.” He was looking at you again. Ugh. You relented after what seemed like a solid minute of staring through your shades at each other, and you looked down at your bottle.

“We fell out of touch. He ain’t my best friend, no more.” You didn’t even really want the beer anymore. The idea of taking even another sip made your mouth and stomach feel sour. Or, maybe it was just because you knew exactly why he wasn’t your best friend.

“And who’s fault is that?”

  
_Oh no, don’t start going all Rose on me, come on._  
  
  
"It's personal."

“Personal, huh?”

“Yes,” You said, pointedly. “Personal.”

“Look,” Bro said. He leaned against the counter and took another sip of the beer. “I wasn’t born yesterday-”

“ _That’s_ for damn sure.”

“-and I ain’t stupid. I know what happened.”

“What happened? You’re gonna have to be more exact than that, ‘what happened’ could mean anything. Narrow it down, dude.” You hoped that if you were like that, Bro would become convinced that you really didn’t know, and he’d drop it and leave you alone for the remainder of your stay. Yeah, and then pigs will gain the ability to fly.

“Dave.” He was doing that thing, again. The thing where he looked at you and you ended up feeling really, really guilty. _Fuuuuck_. “I know. How you felt about the little shit.”

You leaned out to try to peer through to the living room, and you could see the flicker of the TV screen and the shouting of what sounded like an action movie. Good, he probably wasn’t listening. Still, couldn’t help to be careful. “I dunno what you mean.”

“Ah, c’mon kid, it was obvious. You think you hid it well, and maybe you did, but a Strider knows a Strider, and I know you were in deep. Probably still are.”

“Bullshit!” You almost laughed. “I wasn’t in love with him then, and I’m not in love with him now!”

“I didn’t say _anythin_ ’ about _loving_ him. You decided that all by yourself.”

“Fuck you, I know my feelings, and they don’t have anything to do with loving any hair on that jackass’ body.”

Bro just gave a barely-there smirk at your (frankly very genuine) denial and shrugged. “Whatever you wanna call it, dude. But hey, how ‘bout you try to be a little more hospitable during your stay? It won’t kill you.”

You just gave him a scathing, depreciative look. He just smiled at you.

There was no way you were getting around this one. As much as you hated to admit it, you were going to have to appease your insufferable prick of a brother.

“Fine.”

“Atta boy, I knew you’d see it my way.” He turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back at you. He looked back at you and his eyebrows creased just so that it almost seemed like he was concerned, worried. About you. “...Shoulda’ said somethin’ before.”

“I shoulda’ said a lot of things to you, but I haven’t. That’s just how it is.” Like you said, you had  _no_ idea what he was referring to, and the statement held true then.

  
He looked at you for a moment longer before picking up the beer, turning back and leaving. You could hear him talking to John, offering the beer no doubt, and you looked out of the kitchen door through to the living room-- to see John glancing back. You very quickly moved back to leaning against the counter, hoping to any god that’d give you the time of day at this point that he didn’t actually see you, that he was conveniently looking at the water stains on the ceiling by the door. But obviously hoping that was futile.

At least he didn’t look angry.  It was more like he was as surprised as you were to see you staring back.

You considered walking out, maybe sitting on the couch like there was nothing wrong and watching whatever shit John had turned over on the TV, just like old times.

It was kind of like Bro was reading your mind, because he shouted, “You’re makin’ the place look untidy, you gonna sit down, or what?”  To be honest, you were fine here, in the underused, over cluttered kitchen, sipping your lukewarm beer and feeling both sorry for yourself and vaguely pissed off at John for his mere presence.

“I’m fine here.” You called back at him.

“You never used to have a problem with sitting your ass down when you were livin’ here.”

  
Fucking-- fine. _Fine_. You put your bottle down-- like you were going to finish it anyway--and abandoned it in the kitchen, walking through to the living room and pointedly avoiding eye contact with John. You sat down heavily on the other end of the couch, barely looking at the screen other than to see what they were watching. Some dumb, plotless action movie with a beefed up trigger happy moron protag searching for his beautiful and frankly rather two dimensional love interest and fighting off equally 2d bad guys. Truly Egbertian. Whatever.

“Happy to have you here.” Bro commented dryly.

“Kiss my ass.”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t be the first to literally do that. Right, John?”

The noise John made was a little strangled, incredibly embarrassed, and understandably annoyed. “I should probably go.” He stood and the couch cushions shifted with his weight.

“Yeah, you probably should.” You replied curtly, and if looks could kill, you’d be seven feet under. You didn't even have to be looking at him to know that.

“Fuck you, you don’t even live here!”

“Like you keep fuckin’ saying.” You stood too. Bro was still sat down, staring impassively at the TV, seemingly not noticing the argument going on before him, which you kind of found hard to believe. “How about you go? You’re done here. Turntables are moved. We don’t need you here, anymore.”

“You know what-!?”

“John. Out.”

It was like the argument has been suspended out of nowhere. You stopped arguing, blinked through your shades at John, who looked just as surprised as you did, and you both looked at Bro. “That’s...that’s what I’ve been trying to say to him-” He looked over his shades at you and you shut up immediately.

John didn’t say anything. Instead, he just looked at you coldly and picked up his jacket draped over the couch and left without a word.

_  
Oh_.

  
That wasn’t how you thought your touching reunion would be. In all honesty, you didn’t think you’d ever have a reunion, let alone a positive one, and certainly not under such seemingly coincidental circumstances. In all honesty it just made your chest feel heavy, the overwhelming sense of dread clung to the back on your mind and you were honestly considering taking the next plane back up to New York and hiding away in your apartment. It was weird how he could still make you feel like shit.

You were stood in front of the couch, not really knowing what to do with yourself, when Bro stood up suddenly and damn near gave you a heart attack. Of course he would have, if you weren’t paying attention and you were lost in your own thoughts, which you totally weren’t. A Strider is, of course, always prepared.

“Roof, now.”

“I’ve just gotten home-”

“And you got into a piss fit with your old boyfriend in less than five minutes of stepping through the door. _Roof_.”

You were about to argue that one, he wasn’t your fucking boyfriend, never had been, and two, it was more like thirty seconds of stepping through the door, but he had moved past you and left the room before you could get the first syllable out. “Time’s a’wastin’, kid.”

_  
Fucking excellent._

 

* * *

 

You were out of shape. You were so, so out of shape. You huffed a little as you only just dodged a swipe of Bro’s katana and stumbled backwards. This was him going _easy_ on you. If he was going old school street rules hard on you, you’d probably be dead by now.

“You gonna tell me what I already know, or shall I just let you know my findings?” He said from behind you, and you whirled around and slipped into a natural defensive pose, holding the sword out in front of you. Maybe it hadn’t completely left you, the fighting spirit. Or, whatever you’d call it.

“Whatever you think is just stories made up by your fuckin’-” You took a lunge and cursed under your breath when he gave your sword a wide birth with that same stupid, cocky smirk. “-deluded brain. So please, amuse me. Give me all ya’ got.”

“Alright,” He advanced and you beat parried his blade with a determined frown. Always on the defensive side, it was you. “You were fuckin Egbert for what I estimate to be...two years? Two years, until you decided to pull that stunt where you made me take you to college a few days early and drop out of his life for the foreseeable future, which ended up being six years.”

“Even if that were true, which it ain’t-” Another block, and his blade grazed against your own with that sickening hissing sound that he knew you hated. “Why would you arrange for him to come over so coincidentally to do a job you coulda’ easily done yourself?”

“‘Cause you need to talk things out?”

“No we don’t.” He gave a direct cut and it caught your jacket, grazing and feathering the material.  
  
  
 _Fuck, that’s a good jacket._

_  
_“Yeah, you do. You left him with nothing, he was fucking hurting, lil’ man.”  
  
  
 _Stop calling me that, jackass. I am a grown ass man. I pay bills.  
  
  
_ “Like I care. So was _I_.”

“And why’s that, Dave?” Okay, maybe you let that slip, and you left it a little too late to take it back. He wasn’t smirking like before, though, rather his face was as pokered as it could get and for once it was like he wasn’t treating your problems like they were trivial. He was like that back then six years ago, too. “Why do you think you were hurting?” And there, there was the similarity between him and Rose. Their innate, irritating need to know every single fucking detail.

“Why do _you_ care?”  
  
“Want me to tell you what I think?”  
  
“Oh, please do.” You almost growled, lunging foreward and missing him only by an inch, if that. “Tell me everything you think you know, oh great and all powerful Bro. Why?” You were being cocky, and you probably deserved the slip up you had when he spoke next.

“Because you loved him.”

  
It caught you a little off guard, even though it was inevitable he would say something like that. You forgot to block his hit and you felt his katana cut your shirt just below the rib and slice the first few layers of skin, thankfully not enough to draw any substantial amount of blood that would be missed, but enough to feel sore, and surprise you enough that you stepped back more than you probably needed to, leaving about a meter between you and your eldest brother.

“...” You looked at him silently, your chest heaving with each breath and fixing your jaw.

“You ready to talk?” He asked you.

Were you? you could barely admit to yourself that you had once loved John, let alone anyone else. And you thought you had hidden it so well…  
And perhaps you had. Maybe it was just that Bro knew you so well, a Strider knew a Strider, after all, and no one knew you better than Bro and Dirk did.

You could have extended that to John too, once upon a time.

  
“...I did...I did before. Not anymore. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” But it did. The memory of what that jerk fucking did to you each time he was with another person, another girl, the night you cried like a fucking baby to yourself, wishing you were a girl just so he’d love you back, the feeling of betrayal every time he treated you like the treasured, adored creature you wished he’d just see you as for the test of the time. It wasn’t love, but it hurt.

It fucking _hurt_.

“You should talk to him.”

“Nah.” By now the strife had been silently called off and you were just stood there, staring at him, all semblance of conflict between you lost and all of the fighting spirit killed inside you.

“Dave.”

“...Fine.” But not now. Not today.

Maybe tomorrow you’d give it a go.

You wondered if you could even patch up something that had been so badly torn over years of mistreatment and neglect. It seemed impossible that you could become anything close to ‘friends’, let alone best friends. You wondered if you could even do this.

  
You wondered if John would even let you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com, and feel free to ask questions about my fic and anything else you feel like asking!


	5. The Heart and Clubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which John Needs To Get His Mind Off Of Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaargh I'm sorry!! I've had a lot of deadlines (of which I'm still not finished with) so it's been a late update.
> 
> Anyway, enter Dirk and Jake!
> 
> God, I cannot write either of them. Well. Maybe I can, I dunno. I'm just not used to it.

“I daresay you’re being a tad extreme, old chum.”

“ _Extreme?_ ” You repeated. “What do you even mean?”

“Well,” Your cousin said over the phone, the receiver making his voice sound tinny and slightly more annoying than usual. “Suddenly declaring that you’re not going to step a foot outside your apartment for the next week or so without any explanation why is somewhat queer, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes hard enough that you were almost certain he’d hear it if he was in the same room with you, and you frowned, biting down and gnawing at your lip. You had a permanent groove on your bottom lip from doing that since you were a kid, as of habit. You did it when you were nervous, or anxious, or worried about something. Of course, you weren’t any of those things. You were just pissed off. Pissed off, and a little annoyed.

Out of all times, why had he turned up _now_? Six years, and you were fine. You were fine without Dave. You forgot about him, your friendship, got together with Vriska, got a good job, and a good life. And then he had to fucking turn up, and you were sure things would go from bad to worse at this rate. Vriska was already gone, so you couldn’t even bitch about it to anyone, everyone else had a ‘ _moral high ground_ ’ and were ‘ _far too mature to do something like that,John_ ’. But, you were angry, and upset. You didn’t deserve this.

“Maybe I just want to spend the entire week in, Jake. I have box sets I need to catch up on.” Lie. “And work to do.” False. At least, until you got the work you sent off back to either be corrected or expanded. “I’m a very busy man.” Liar.

“Oh come on, old sport. We both know that’s not true.” _Dammit, russled again_. You had to say, Jake wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Not to say that your cousin did look stupid, but...yeah.

“I _am_ busy!”

“...” He sighed down the phone, and you just knew what was coming next. “Is it because Dave is here?”

“Why do _you_ care?” Perhaps you were being a bit of a brat at this point, Jake hadn’t done anything to deserve your snark, and you were just glad he had a decent level of patience with you.

“So, it is. Dirk told me, Dave seemed to be sulking in his old room by the time he went down to visit, or so he said. Did you give him a verbal boxing around the ears? Dirk says it looked like you really did a number on him.”

“Why?” You asked, your interest reluctantly piqued. “Did Dave talk about me?”

“He might have talked to Bro about you, but what they may or may not have said is beyond me, I’m afraid.”

"So he didn't talk to Dirk?"

"I don't know-- Dirk isn't very happy with you."  
  
  
"What?!" Your voice picked up with a little bit of outrage. "Why not? What did I do?" You asked.

"I don't know! Whatever it is, I fear it may be your fault, old chum."

"My fault?!"

“Yeah…Do you think it’s anything you need to resolve with him?”

“I don’t need to apologise for anything, if that’s what you’re saying.”

"...Look," He sighed down the phone. "You need to get out, clearly Dave coming back down has upset you, so perhaps you need to take your mind off of it."

“Like how?”

“Well...Come out for a drink with me, why don’t you?” He suggested, and you considered it.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything with your time. You had finished and sent off all of your paperwork for the latest study you made down at the coast, and you had next to no inspiration for writing music, and you really didn’t feel like marathoning another season of some show over pizza for the third night in a row. Maybe he’d make an appearance. “I might do. Where?”

“The pub near mine and Dirk’s.”  
Oh yeah, they lived together now. That happened a couple of years back, you even helped them move everything in! It was a good few days, shifting furniture and helping paint the hallway, and then getting Chinese take out for the job well done. You smiled briefly at the otherwise silly memory and felt a fraction better. It was always nice to remember stuff like that, even when a second later you thought about your current situation. “Come on, bro!” It was always so awkward when he used words like ‘bro’ and ‘dude’. It just didn’t suit him. It was morally and probably ethically wrong in your opinion, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him. He probably got it from Dirk.

“Fine, alright.  I guess I’ll make an appearance. The bar on the corner?” What was it, The Heart and Clubs?

“The very same!” He replied cheerfully. You didn’t hang out with Jake us much as you used to, and indeed as much as you’d like to, because as much as he exasperated you, he was your only male cousin and for a time your only friend, so he kind of meant a lot to you. “For six, alright?”

“Alright.” You echoed. You exchanged goodbyes and hung up, and you let out a sigh you didn’t realise you were holding in.

  
You had barely been home for longer than an hour, and already you were impatient, itching to get out and get your mind off of Dave coming back and getting into that stupid argument with him. What the hell was his problem, anyway? What right did he have to start shouting at and berating you? He left without a trace for six years! He could have been dead, if not for Rose giving you occasional updates on his well being for the first few years. After that, after you stopped caring, she stopped telling you. You supposed that was pretty convenient, if a little too coincidental.

Whatever.

The main thing was, after a short time Dave’d be leaving again for New York, leaving you to go about your day to day life and forget about him again.

It’d be fine.

Absolutely fine.

 

As it turned out, trying to find this bar was a hell of a lot more difficult than you had anticipated. Sure, you had went there before with Jake and Vriska, but trying to find your own way here by yourself was proving to be a feat by itself. It was getting dark out, being winter, and you were wandering down the street you could’ve sworn the bar was on with your hands tucked into your pockets and a frown working itself steadily onto your face. This was very quickly becoming very ridiculous.

You called him and held the phone to your ear as you looked about helplessly.

“Hello?”

“I swear the bar’s here!” You began. Straight to the point. “I mean, I thought it was, and I’m pretty sure it still is. But yet, here I am.”

“Hello, John! Are you lost, pal?” You could hear the chatter of patrons in the background and the occasional clinking of glasses and bottles a little nearer, perhaps from Jake waiting for you or from a table or the bar near to him.

You snorted. You, lost? _Ridiculous._ “Lost? Of course not, that’s preposterous!

He gave a chuckle and you could hear a glass that he must have been holding clink as he set it back on a surface. “Okay, I believe you. What’s around you?”

“Um. Hold on.” You squinted about the scenery. “There’s a hardware store, two off-licenses, a bus stop and a couple of different grocers.”

Another laugh. "I daresay you're in the wrong place, my friend!"

"What."

You couldn't be, you remember coming here before! This was the route you took!

You think.

"It sounds like you're on fifth avenue, the bar is on sixth." He continued. _"_ By George, it’s bloody well a relief that you had the right thought to ring me, isn’t it?"

"Oh." That would probably make sense, actually. "Looks like it. I won't be long."

 "Right you are! I'll just wait for you to arrive, then. See you soon!"

   
_Right._

  
A few minutes and a short walk later, you were walking into the bar- which was in fact called The Heart and Clubs. It was a decent enough place, nice enough that the Lalonde girls would occasionally make an appearance there to drink. You missed them, you realised. You wondered how Rose and Roxy were.

"John, you made it, excellent!" A shout from some way across the bar caught your attention and soon your cousin was all but bounding up to you. Honestly, he was twenty six, he shouldn’t be running up to you like that, like a child. Still, none of the other bar goers paid him any mind. Maybe they were used to it.

"Yeah, it looks like it." Eventually, anyway. If you ever came here again you’d know where to go.  
Well, you say that, but you lost your way this time, so there’s no guaranteeing you wouldn’t do so the next.

 “So!” Jake clapped your back with his calloused hands, luckily not quite hard enough to send you stumbling, and you made your way to the table he had his jacket and most of-what he called- a pint left. “What’s your poison, mate? I’ll pay.”

"Are you sure?” You asked. When he nodded, you rolled your eyes and sat down begrudgingly. You didn’t like other people paying for you; you were never not well-off growing up, and that blessing had carried on into your early adulthood. You were used to always having money on you and with that, paying for other people as well as yourself. Your dad always said you were exceedingly generous, and it was a good quality to have. Jade just said you liked wasting your money on other people. “I’ll just have a beer, whatever.” You shrugged. He grinned at you and patted your shoulder before leaving for the bar to get your drink.

 You didn’t make a habit of drinking with Jake for one reason: He drank like a fish and couple hold his liquor better than the most hardened of drinkers. You figured it had something to do with his upbringing. Jade and Jake’s grandparents let them drink earlier than you were allowed, so he had been used to the potent effects of alcohol for longer than you. Not to say you were a lightweight, but his strong countenance put yours to shame.

  
Even so, yours was nothing to be sniffed at. You remembered when you were seventeen and you went to a party with everyone that summer. You were pretty sure it was Ampora’s-- that flashy, weird guy at school who was rich and good-looking, and knew it. He held a load of parties at his huge house every other weekend (who knows how he was allowed to do it, maybe his parents either didn’t care, were always away, or both) and a few times you got invited. Mutual friends, of course Jade brought you along (she was friends with everyone), and by extended invitation you brought along Dave. Rose would already be there, she was dating with one of the semi-popular girls, Kanaya.

That same summer, Kanaya’s situation changed. Or rather, her gender did. There wasn’t much of a difference, only that she began to wear heavier makeup and skirts, and asked people to address her as Kanaya rather than her birth name. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, as she had told you all that she was a girl from the time of middle school, but it was still a bit of a surprise. Really though, she was still the same person she had always been. The same glamorous, unreasonably tall, fashionable mother hen figure that you all grew up with.

You thought Rose would find it a little difficult to adapt to Kanaya beginning her transition, but it was quite the opposite. For her, she explained, it was exactly the same as it always was. She has always had a girlfriend, only now her girlfriend looked like a girlfriend, rather than a boyfriend.

   
The two of them met you at the doors of the party, Rose in a purple dress, and Kanaya in a green, both looking every inch the gorgeous lesbian power couple they were renowned to being.

“You’re earlier than expected.” Rose said with a smile, looking you up and down and letting her eyes drag a little too long on your battered converse.

 _Yeah yeah_ , you thought, _like anyone’ll be staring at my feet, anyway_.

“Yeah.” Dave replied shortly. Her smile dropped a fraction before picking up again, pale fingers curling around Kanaya’s thin arm.

“We had a look around the house earlier,” Rose said. “The bar is in the west wing, and they’re holding some alcohol infused party-esque games outside by the pool.”

“Wait, west wing? Pool?” Jeez, just how rich was this tool?

“I reacted exactly the same way.” Kanaya assured. “Anyone with enough money to frivolously spend on an olympic sized pool, plaque indicated wings, and at least six bathrooms is too wealthy to see sense.”

“If Eridan is bad, his dad must be worse, jeez.”

Rose nodded seriously. “I wouldn’t dispute that. Looking at his house, he seems like an entirely gasconade, precocious moron, I’d cringe at his very presence if ever I had the misfortune to meet him.”

“You’re exaggerating.” Kanaya said with a smile.

“Oh am I, now? I’ve kept my promise to worse, and you know that, my dear.”

   
They shared a small giggle and you took that opportunity to give them a quick goodbye and turn to Dave, who was pretty much silent throughout that entire exchange. Was something wrong with him?

“You wanna get a drink?” You asked, in an attempt to lighten the mood somehow. His face tipped up so his eyes wet yours through tinted glass, and he shrugged.

“Ain’t that the concept of a party? Get in, get drunk, do somethin’ stupid, screw a random person’s brains out and never talk to them again…”

“Let’s...start with the drinks first.” You were pretty sure he was basing the entirety of his description on stuff he had watched in high school spring break movies. So far, this wasn’t looking remotely accurate. YOu had yet to see a red plastic cup or a random band playing in the foyer. All there was was clear plastic cups and a sound system churning out recycled dance tunes that you were pretty sure you heard before, time and time again.

You weaved through the developing crowd-- more people had begun to arrive at this point-- until you got to the aforementioned ‘west wing’, Dave following closely behind.

“This is illegal.”Dave pointed out over the music, and you turned and rolled your eyes at him. Okay, so maybe you were both too young to drink. Four years too young to drink, in fact, but like that was gonna stop you. Your composure was pretty good when it came to alcohol, you could handle yourself.

“Since when were you concerned with abiding by the rules?”

“Bro’s gonna kick my ass if he finds out, you tool. Which he will, because he fuckin’ has eyes everywhere.” You guessed that wasn’t entirely implausible. Dave’s brother was kind of like a ninja. A weird, puppet toting ninja, but a ninja nonetheless.

“Bro taught you to drive when you were 14 and jumps you with a sword every time you think we’re alone and relaxed. He’s hardly what you’d call a law abiding citizen.”

“Under his supervision.” Dave correctly pointed out. “Man, fuck _you_.”

“Yeah, yeah. Another time, maybe.” You grinned, but in your eyes a flicker of truth was spelled out. This thing you had had been going on for about a year at this point, and it was safe to say you had been each other’s firsts in a lot of things. First handjob, blow job, first to witness each other’s orgasms and post-orgasmic bliss. Obviously you went on to experience it with other people, girls, and so did he, but it was special. You just hadn’t fucked each other yet.  
It sounded weird, and sort of gay, even to you. But you weren’t gay! You didn’t actually like guys, it was just practice, you guessed! You had no romantic attachment to Dave, or any other guy, it was purely sexual. And Dave knew that, because you were certain it was the same for him. 

He just looked at you through his dark shades for a moment longer before he looked away and began picking up different bottles of spirits and liquors, inspecting the labels and drizzling a little bit of each liquid in at a time.

“Are you mixing drinks?” You asked, wary. You heard bad things about doing that. It was pretty dangerous, last time you checked, if you didn’t know what you were doing.

“Relax,” He said, flapping his hand at you. “I know what I’m doing.”

  
It turned out that evidently, Dave did not have a fucking clue what he was doing, because within about an hour, he was absolutely shit faced. You, although drunk yourself, was coherent enough to know that Dave was very drunk, and he probably needed to go home and rest it off. You’d go with him to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit or something, since Bro was once again out of town (a convention, something to do with his online business) and Dirk was at college, and you knew better than to just leave your best friend to fend for himself when he was blind drunk.

So, you said goodbye to everyone (Rose and Kanaya had by that time left, after you declined a lift to Bro’s apartment because ’ _Dave could probably use the fresh air of the walk home_ ’ and Jade had lost interest in the festivities and had begun messaging her online friend from her phone, neon green interrupting blocks of seemingly angry grey) and left, supporting Dave on one side as he leaned against you and talked about everything and anything that crossed his mind. Such hits including: ‘d’you think fish have nipples?’ and ‘what if we’re dreaming right now, and when we wake you we’re actually just bears?’ and other things that would give you an existential crisis if not for the fact that the sentences were interrupted with hiccups and burps, and the occasional giggle and pat on your face. That, and you were fully certain we was talking right out of his ass. You eventually got to the apartment and got his key out of his pocket, making a couple of attempts to jam the key in the lock (because you too were as drunk as a theoretical skunk)  before unlocking the door.

  
The next few minutes consisted of Dave hanging off of you as you tried to take yours and his shoes off, feebly resisting when you slid his shades off of his face and clutching onto your hand when you led him to his bedroom, sitting him down on the bed and leaving momentarily to locate a trash can and a glass of water for him. You sat down with him and watched him and he gulped half of the glass down. He put the water down after, blinking at you with eyes that looked near carmine in the light of the artificial lamp.

“Jawwn,” He slurred, the Texan lull in his voice coming out stronger and more cowboyish the longer he dragged out the single syllable of your name.

“Daaaave.” You mimicked, grinning.

“Look at...looka’ me.” He grabbed your face and looked at you seriously (or, as seriously as he could manage), squeezing your cheeks with his cold palms. “I love you, man.”

 “Oh, thanks.” He was making it hard for you to talk like this, so you look his hands in yours and lowered them down to speak. “You too.”

 "No, nonono. You don’ understand.” He pulled one hand away from you and waggled his finger menacingly at you. “I _love_ you. More than _anythin’_.”

“Yeah,” You said. You were beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable, but it felt like something that had to be said, even if it were only to placate him. “I love you too.”

  
He smiled unabashedly, the first time in a while, at least around you. “You _do_?” He asked softly, like you were exchanging a secret. You nodded, and his smile would have widened were it possible. He leaned forward, gripping your hand with the one you took, and kissed you on the forehead. Nothing passionate, or explicit. Just innocent. And damn if it didn’t make your face heat up. You laughed nervously, awkwardly, but the laughing didn’t seem to bother him, rather it made him giggle--right up until the second he had to cut it short and spew his guts up into the trash can provided like his life depended on it. He passed out asleep soon after, you following, and you woke up at about seven a.m. with your legs tangled with his and your hands weaved into his hair.

Your immunity to alcohol wasn’t amazing, but you had enough control of it to remember that night.

 

That...memory, it really spiralled, didn’t it? You frowned at yourself, and then up at Jake, who was walking over somehow carrying your beer and a two more, for whom you assumed was himself.

“What’s the matter?” He asked you once he had sat down and placed the two spare drinks down. “Has life still got you down? Your face looks shocking.”

“No, it’s nothing. Only remembering things, it’s alright!” You smiled at him. The reassurance seemed to work, because soon his regular goonish grin had picked up again.

“Well, that’s alright, then! I was beginning to worry you didn’t like my company.”

“If I didn’t like you, you’d know by now.” You laughed, and directed your attention to the drinks. Another two bottles, one weird special ale, and an apple cider. “I didn’t think you liked apple cider.” In fact, hardly anyone you knew had a particular penchant for it.

“Ah, well…” He was looking sheepish. Why was he looking sheepish?  
...What had he done.

“What?”

“I’m afraid I may have fixed our hang out to encompass extra people.” Jake took the opportunity to take a long draught of his pint, avoiding any and all eye contact with you.

“Which people?” You asked, suspicions arising. “Who did you invite, Jake?”

You didn’t need to ask, really. In your peripheral vision you saw the door to the bar swing open and two blondes walk in. It was when you saw the dark shades that your fears were confirmed and you gave Jake a glare. Oh, if looks could kill…

   
“Okay,” You stood up. “This has been _really_ fun, but I’m going to leave.”

Jake pulled you back down by your shoulder and you sat heavily back down, the chair squeaking a bit as it was shunted backwards a fraction with your weight. “Please, old chap! Whatever ills you have against Dave, you need to resolve them!” You looked up and Dirk had caught eye of the both of you and was making his way over. “And what better way to do so than over a drink amongst friends?” 

“He’s not my friend.” Not any more. Not after disappearing without a trace, or even a goodbye.

“Nonsense! Please, just give it a chance!”

You didn’t get the opportunity to say no, because by that time the two Striders had reached the table, Dave hanging a little ways back and staring at you with contempt through his shades. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could tell. “What’re _you_ doing here.”

  
Alright, straight to the point. It kind of felt like a repeat of earlier in the day, the accusatory tones and harsh expressions. You could feel Jake giving you a look, so you looked up at Dave with an equally venomous look in your eye, before dropping it, seemingly uninterested and finally drinking some of your beverage. “It’s a public place, aren’t I allowed to come here? Since when did you have the right to police what I do?” Surely that allowance was revoked the minute he dropped out of your life without a second’s notice.

  
“Did you lock up properly?” Jake asked Dirk quickly, if only to dispel the tension, standing up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Something about ‘PDA’, but Jake didn’t especially like being overly affectionate in public, beyond quick kisses and holding hands. Which was fine by you, but if only spontaneous roughhousing came under that. Dirk nodded and sat down next to Jake, leaving Dave only one place to sit.  
Next to you.

  
_Fantastic_.

  
“Yeah. It’s a tricky lock though, you’re gonna have to remind me to repair that.”

“Repair meaning dismantle the front door and forget to put it back together again?” Jake asked with a teasing note to his voice. He noticed Dave still standing and raised his eyebrows. “Well? Take a seat, Dave!”

“I’m fine here, thanks.” Dave replied stiffly, and Dirk elbowed him sharply in the side from where he sat, earning a disgruntled ‘oof’ from his younger brother.

“You’re makin’ the place look untidy. Sit down.” Add with that, Dave had no choice but to sit down. Right next to you.

This was nothing short of awkward. Awkward, and annoying, and bordering on kind of painful. Dave eventually sat down, not far away like he was avoiding you, but like you weren’t sitting there at all. Like you didn’t exist.  
And, angry or not, that was rude as hell.

The two blondes grabbed for their drinks (it made a lot of sense why Jake got an apple cider now Dave was the only person you knew who drank it. It was basically alcoholic apple juice, and after you tried to convince him that all of the apple juice he had in his house was actually piss, you kind of put yourself off the stuff) and quickly conversation divulged between the two older males. And you sat in silence, your hand clasped around your beer bottle and your entire body itched with the urge to get out of there. At this point you were wondering in a night at home feeling sorry for yourself would have been better than going out and having to be subjected to this treatment.

Okay, maybe treatment was the wrong thing to address it as, but they had tricked you, dammit. You didn’t like being tricked!

Every so often you had the sensation of someone looking at you. Not the creepy, horror movie staring like ‘something’s watching me but no one is there’ or something, just like someone kept glancing over at you occasionally. And it was slightly off putting, but nothing to really speak up about. You did, however, look around a few times to see if you could catch the eye of the starer.  
The first two times, nothing. You looked around, a little confused, seeing the two older males in conversation, Dave on his phone, and anyone else in the bar most certainly not paying you any mind. On the third time, however, you looked up almost instantly and to your right to find Dave looking in your direction. Even with the shades, you could tell, and he knew you could. You were surprised that, even with years apart, you could still tell if he was looking at you, or not.

You kept the stare going for what seemed like forever. Dave’s face was contorted into some unreadable expression, one of shock plus a glimmer of something else, before the spell was broken and you hastily looked away, embarrassed and a little more than confused. You glanced at him again and he was furiously tapping out a message on his phone with his calloused thumbs, purple and red text reflecting off of his shades.

He didn’t look up for the rest of the duration of you being there.

It took an hour before you felt like you could get away with leaving without too much of a fuss from Jake, and the minute you finished your drink, you were making your excuses and pulling your jacket back on to brace the cool autumnal air of the night. Jake almost pouted, asking if you “couldn’t just stay for one more pint, mate?”, but accepted your goodbyes anyway. Dirk, who was quietly watching you through this, held out a fist for you to bump, and after some hesitation you bumped it. You’d have sworn Dirk had forgotten about anything bad happening earlier that day, but then he spoke. “You were quiet today. Normally you’d be chatting it up with Dave and laughing like a hyena high on weed. Still, sure that won’t last. It’d be just like old times in a few days, right?” You could feel his stare boring right though you, like he was tempting you to do or say something to him, or maybe even Dave.

He must have known. About the argument, anyway. But, it wasn’t pretty. It was loud, and you doubted that Dirk didn’t find it out through Bro, somehow. But there was time and opportunity to worry about this later, at home on your own where you had no obligation to act perfectly pleasant to anyone. So you left, looking back once at Dave (you didn’t know why you did that, you just did-- moral obligation, perhaps), who hadn’t even looked up from his screen, and you uttered a short and simple ‘ _goodnight_ ’ before leaving.

This thing...just then, around Dave. It was awkward and painful, almost as bad as the fighting earlier. Of course you’d rather not be screaming and shouting at him either, so...maybe what Jake said was a good idea. About maybe resolving this, trying to get past your differences and restart the already war torn friendship.

  
It couldn’t hurt to give it a go. Dave was leaving come the next Saturday, so if it didn’t work, you could always get over it, knowing you tried.  
And that was better than nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr at porrimspantyhose!
> 
> I've also got snapchat if anyone wants to add me at icymamelon uou


	6. For All Terms And Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dave Gets Some Bad News, And Tries To Diffuse The Tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate coding pester logs. So much.  
> It's 3:50 in the morning and I ONLY JUST finished coding everything. For some reason it wasn't working so I had to redo it all.
> 
> See what I do for you people?
> 
> I'm kidding, I love writing for you all. So much so, that the update is a bit earlier! To apologise for taking so long last month. 
> 
> Also, Jade's here! I've very literally NEVER written her before, so I really hope I've done okay.

It was on the Monday when it suddenly appeared that you were, in fact, well and truly fucked for the foreseeable future. You had just finished oversleeping until around 1 pm, and were going to start a rousing game of Mario Kart of Bro’s N64 (as Bowser, of course. You weren’t sure why but you loved the turtle dragon type bastard) when your phone began buzzing in your pocket. You had to remember how to pause the game on the old system before you picked the call up and propped it in between your cheek and shoulder to talk whilst you resumed the game on mute. “Hello?”

“Is this mister Strider?” The voice asked on the phone. It was your landlord. He was a strange man, quiet and nice enough but...just strange. And sweaty. He owned a garage across from the apartment complex that you got your car serviced at occasionally, so you were on good enough terms. But not enough for a casual chat. Which, was a little unnerving, giving the fact he was calling.

“Yeah, it is. Hey. What’s up?” Why else would he be calling if something wasn’t up? Like you said, you didn’t know the guy well enough to have a casual, informal chat.

“It’s regarding your apartment. There’s been a...problem.”

“...Okay?” Okay, what the _hell?_ What problem?

“There was a fire in the apartment next to yours. I believe the tenants had a get together and got somewhat rampant, and they lit a lamp shade on fire. Naturally, as fire does, the fire spread, and got into your apartment. No one was hurt, of course, but your apartment remains yet to be habitable, and will remain that way for the foreseeable future.”

“...What?” This was a joke. This _had_ to be a joke. Ha ha, good one, Zahhak, you and your jokes, what are you _like?_

The voice on the other end of the phone sounded somewhat less than amused, so that threw the possibility of this all being a (somewhat cruel) prank out the window. “I’m very sorry, mister Strider. If it’s any consolation, you won’t have to pay for any of the fire damage, as that is included and covered in our tenancy agreement.”

“I didn’t _expect_ to pay anything, I didn’t light the fucking fire!” You had by now long abandoned the game and Bowser was stopped in the middle of the track, dead last, and being occasionally hit with green and red shells. “Where am I supposed to _live!?”_

“I’m very sorry--”

“I’m fucking _homeless_ , because of your fucking shitty paper thin fire attracting walls,or whatever the fuck. Do you douse the furniture in gasoline before a tenant moves in, is that why the lampshade caught on fire so easily?” It wasn’t really fair that you were shouting at him but...you were angry. That was your home, and now you had lost it. Your dark room. Oh God, your _turntables_. At least you had insurance on them, but. Oh, _God_. “Are they being charged, or held accountable? What’s happening?”

“Sir-”

“This is fucking _ridiculous._ ” You were being absolutely atrocious to the poor guy, he couldn’t catch a break. Just because you were pissed off at John, and angry at whoever was responsible for the fire, didn’t mean you could take it out on him. You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed, willing yourself to calm down. “...How long will it take to get it back to normal? My apartment, I mean?”

Mr Zahhak seemed as happy for the change of pace as you were. At least, you thought so. You could never really tell, with him. “Most likely not until after Christmas. March, approximately. Perhaps as late as May. They haven’t yet fully assessed the severity of the damage, but that is my educated guess. It was bad.”

So chances are, it could be far less, or far more. Chances were far more, because they’d keep putting it off, and sending papers around, and waiting for building approval...Fuck, you were going to be here forever, weren’t you? Unless, of course, Rose and Kanaya would be willing to look after you. You’d ask Roxy, but she had the habit of bringing people home at unexpected and frequent times, and judging by the noises they made through the walls that one time you stayed over after going on a bar run with her, it’d be very loud. And traumatising.  
“...Right. Thank you. I’m sorry for flipping out at you-”

“It’s fine. I would most likely have done the same thing.” Imagine, a hulking great man like him getting pissed off and pirouetting off of the fucking handle at some poor sucker. You wouldn't want to be in that situation, no sir. “I will call you on the subject of any updates.” Well, looked like that conversation was over. _Hm._

  
Three seconds of awkward silence later, you made your cue to hang up. “I better go,” You said, and he agreed almost immediately. You said your goodbyes, even if they were a little dejected, and you hung up, suddenly not in the mood for Mario Kart at all, whatsoever. Which was probably a good thing, since you were dead last. Your dropped the controller on your lap and dropped your head back on the back of the couch and let out a groan, covering your face with your hands, pushing your shades up onto your forehead.

“S’there a problem?” Bro asked from the doorway. You had fallen out of the habit of noticing him and that almost made you jump. Like you said, you were a Strider and Strider’s don’t jump.

“How long’ve you been there?” You asked, face still in your hands. You felt him sit down on the couch next to you and you looked at him after a moment, shades slipping down onto the bridge of your nose.

“Since you put the game in the console. What’s up, lil’ bro?” But of course he knew what was up. He didn’t fool you for one minute. You weren’t in the mood for challenging his use of pet name though. You sighed heavily through your nose and shook your head.

“I’m...something happened to my apartment.”

“I heard. So, what’s gonna happen?”

“I don’t know.” You dropped your hands heavily onto your lap and stared up at the ceiling, glaring daggers at the watermarks above your head for no reason other than the fact that you were annoyed and fed up and kind of wanted to go home but _couldn’t._ “I could ask Rose and Kanaya if they’d let me stay, but I don’t know. Their apartment is too small.”

“What about _Roxy_?”

“No.” You said, and left it at that. You didn’t want to reiterate the traumatising experience of hearing someone pounding your cousin in the next room over. Eugh. No, you didn’t want to live through that, again. You couldn’t make eye contact with her,  for a week.

“You can stay here.” Bro gave a short shrug, like it was no big deal and picked up your abandoned player 1 controller to restart the game. You looked at him like he was absolutely insane, as if he must have been stupid for encouraging you to stay in the same city as John, with higher than average chance of bumping into him or having to be in the same room as him, if almost the whole of yesterday was any indication.

“Yeah, no.” You said. “Nice try, but I’m not having anythin’ to do with that asshole by staying here.”

“What’re you talkin’ about? I didn’t say anythin’ about any asshole.” Again with that aloof shrug. It looked like he was investing more of his attention in Mario Kart, and maybe he was, but you could guarantee that at least 25% of his attention was on you and how annoyed you were internally. You swore you even saw the trace of a smirk for a moment.

“Whatever. I’m calling Rose.” You stood and left the room, leaving him to play Moo Moo Meadows and smirk like a jerk all by himself.

  
As it turned out, you were entirely correct about Rose and Kanaya not having enough room-- in fact, they had less room than ever, as they were renovating the kitchen. Rose apologised to you repeatedly, but suggested you stay with Bro, at least until their wedding in March. It looked like both life and your luck was collectively trying to shit all over you, over the past few days. _Fabulous_.

By the time you came back into the living room, there was the player 2 controller set up for you and sat on the arm of the couch, and Bro waiting patiently on the character choice screen.

“Any luck?”

“I’m gonna have to buy some more shit.” Was all you said, and he nodded knowingly. Looked like he wasn’t going to be an ass about this. How fortunate.

“Looks like you can make up with Egbert now, huh?”

Okay, maybe he was. Dick.

“Shut up.”

* * *

  
  
How long had it been since you had used the full pesterchum app, rather than the one automatically attached to your phonebook?  
It had to be, what. Four years? Maybe even five? It was an outdated method of communication, even then, but the four of you, Rose, Jade, you and...John. You had kept up with it. Maybe as a way of preserving the traditional values of IM, or just to be ironic or something.

Regardless of which, you reinstalled the app (you couldn’t quite believe the app was still up and running) and logged in with the details that had subconsciously seared themselves to your brain.

You had deleted it after that night, and relied solely on the add on that allowed you to message people from your phonebook without using credit. Which meant you broke contact with a lot of people you considered friends; Jade, and some of the few school friends you had that weren’t John, Jade or Rose. Which really, really fucking sucked.

As soon as you had logged on, the backlog of messages-- you were estimating at least in the thousands-- came rushing in, filling your old room with the stupid ringing noise near constantly for the next five minutes. They were almost entirely from Jade; Rose sent a few but not nearly enough to constitute for the fucking millions of messages you had gotten from Harley. You felt a little twinge of guilt at that. After you left Texas, you left everything behind-- your memories, your friends… Jade had no idea where you were until one of the fairly recent (well, five years ago) messages:

GG: YOU LEFT AND DIDN’T FUCKING SAY GOODBYE?  
GG: WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?????????  
GG: IVE BEEN SO WORRIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
GG: and now youre not even gonna reply!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  


She still didn’t know you were down, unless Rose had told her.

...Shit, Rose didn’t _tell_ Jade, did she? If anything, you wanted to be the one to break the news to Jade,if she didn’t find out through a middleman, she might calm down quicker, rather than blow  up at you and/or anyone who happened to be in her firing line. You loved Jade, you really did, but she had a fiery temper when she got mad. And, she would get mad at this, if you knew her at all.

TG: im sorry  


You typed it without thinking. Well, you weren’t looking forward to that shitstorm arriving, especially when you had enough of a storm to deal with elsewhere.

After a moment’s hesitation, you double clicked into the ‘blocked’ box on pesterchum, displaying the one and only name you had ever thought to put in there.

ectoBiologist  


It had stayed there, stagnant and collecting dust, for six years. Six. _Years_. In those six years, you had  moved to New York, gone through college, graduated, and started up a business that had run for two years.

How time had flown. And how you were back where you started. Back in your room, shaking with nerves at three in the morning and hovering your finger over his chumhandle on the screen of your cellphone. Only now, you were unblocking, rather than blocking him.

And in a matter of seconds…

You tapped it, pressing ‘unblock’ and allowing it to send you to a chat box between you two, displaying the last messages you had sent to each other dating over six years ago, on the same day you had left his house for the last time.

Load earlier messages…  
EB: please?  
TG: man no fuck that  
EB: come on, it’s not even that bad!  
TG: its fucking awful dude  
TG: cringeworthy as all fuck  
TG: plus we watch it EVERY TIME i come over  
EB: you’re exaggerating.  
EB: it is not ‘every time’.  
TG: okay no im not  
TG: and yes it is  
TG: that prick and his sweaty mullet and grimy wife beater haunts my dreams man  
TG: i cant believe you get off to that  
TG: i cant believe you have such low standards  
EB: shut up!  
TG: make me  
EB: i probably will later.  
TG: jesus  
TG: anyway im leaving  
EB: yeah, yeah.  
EB: see you soon.  
\--turntechGodhead[TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:26 --

\--ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 16:27 --

08/15/09  


\--turntechGodhead [TG] blocked ectoBiologist [EB] at 03:16 --  


11/24/14  


\-- turntechGodhead [TG] unblocked ectoBiologist [EB] at 03:22 --  


\-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 03:22 --  


God, this was legitimately terrifying. Bro had told you to work shit out between the two of you and put things to rest. And while ordinarily you’d have ignored him and done whatever you thought was right, you had to admit he probably knew what he was talking about this time. And, since you’d be here for the foreseeable future, you didn’t want your time to be plagued with that weighing on your mind. It was fucking stressful.

Well. There was no going back now.

Here goes nothing.

…

You had no _fucking idea_ what to _say_.

  
How did you even I something like this? _‘Hey man, sorry I ran off after you fucked me, turns out I was madly in love with you and I hated being used and played around with’_? No, that was terrible. You weren’t even confident that he’d even be online to see this, and even if he was, if he’d even reply. You knew from experience that if John was in a bad mood, he was in a bad fucking mood.  He didn’t just sulk, Strider style, he seethed. You had never made a habit of being on the receiving end of that, but damn. You remember always finding him insatiably attractive when he was angry, because it more often than not resulted in aggressive hickeys spotting your neck and you bring pressed against some sort of surface and fucked senseless for John to work out the frustration pent up inside of him… okay, your mind kind of wandered there.

Now that you were directly on the receiving end of his wrath, you found that you really didn’t want to be here, doing this.  
  
  
But you were, and you had to suck it up and be a fucking _Strider_ , for Christ’s sake.

TG: for all terms and conditions im being the bigger man here  
TG: and i dont give a shit if youre considering berating me and insulting me needlessly  
TG: insult away, i dont give a monkeys fuck  
TG: what im trying to do is apologise  
TG: for leaving without telling you and apparently hurting your feelings  
TG: because heaven forbid your feelings get hurt oh no  


Congratulations for making yourself look like a dick.

Oh God.  
In the midst of typing your next message, the online notification signalling John’s arrival pinged,  and your heart caught in your throat. You quickly sent the next message, attempting to sound like a bit less of a douche.

TG: i dont know   
TG: maybe we just need to act civil and try to get along  


You sat there with a knot in your stomach, waiting in silence for a line of royal blue to show up for something- _anything_ , really- on his part to be said.  
And then.

EB: okay.  


...Okay? Okay _what_? Okay, cue giant fucking rant of epic proportions?  
Okay as in, we can work this out?

TG: okay  
EB: yes. okay.  
EB: we can be civil.  
TG: alright  
TG: good  
EB: and for all ‘terms and conditions’, just because you finally managed to unblock me, doesn’t mean you’re the bigger man for messaging me first.  
EB: because, you know.  
EB: i couldn’t exactly message you.  
EB: seeing as you blocked me.  


Wow, Jesus. Okay. Now was not the time to be getting into an argument.

TG: okay fine  
TG: im sorry  
TG: if you were expecting and slash or looking forward to a giant fuck you cue childish rant youll be sorely disappointed  
TG: because im not in the fucking mood  
TG: and its not even not in the fucking mood as in i will fight everything in sight and piss on its corpse kind of not in the fucking mood  
EB: ...okay? i forgot how much you liked to ramble, jeez.  
EB: i don’t want to fight, but you don’t seem to get how annoyed and upset i am.  


You don’t get how annoyed and upset he is? Hah. Oh, that’s _rich._

TG: no fuck off  
TG: i dont care  
TG: just  
TG: we just need to agree to be civil and at least semi friendly towards each other whenever we see each other next.  
TG: because thatll be inevitable  
EB: why is it inevitable? i doubt we’ll see each other in the next few days before you have to go.  


Therein lay the problem. In the next few days, you were still going to be well and truly stuck in the middle of the arid disappointment that was Texas, as you would be over the next few months.

TG: something happened to my apartment  
TG: punkass neighbors are pieces of shit   
TG: they lit a fire which incidentally got out of control and burned all my shit and probably made it look like i was hosting a post house fire themed home viewing  
TG: which ironically i suppose it was  
TG: so as far as im concerned this is my home until like  
TG: april may time  
TG: probably longer if the reliability of the average builder and interior designer is anything to go by  
TG: and then theres the insurance stuff  
TG: long story short, better start nicing it up egbert  


You weren’t totally sure why you told him absolutely everything. You guessed it was just the fact that you were talking to your former best friend on the same social platform as you did so long ago. It was nostalgic, and you got caught up in it. A small part of you in the back of your brain hoped he didn’t mind.

EB: oh, shit.  
EB: sorry about that.  
EB: so...you’re stuck here, now?  
TG: yeah i guess so  
TG: i think i lost all of my shit in the fire  
TG: rose is gonna go and check if there was anything salvageable from the fuckup of my apartment later today  
TG: i brought my laptop and camera so the important stuff was safe  
TG: but my dark room has most likely expired  
EB: you still do your photography, huh?  
TG: yeah  
TG: its kind of my job now  
TG: what else would a post arts and photography degree student do with his time  
TG: if not be a teacher  


You did not want to be a teacher, in what would probably be a high school. It wasn’t that you disliked teens, it was just that they were really obnoxious, and thought they were better than everyone else. You would know, because you were one, once.

Well, would you look at that? It was almost like you were just old friends catching up after years, rather than former friends/lovers trying to forget the shitty things they did to each other.  
Not that you did anything shitty. You only did what you thought was right.

EB: teaching isn’t too bad.  
EB: you probably wouldn’t make a great teacher, though. no offense,  
TG: im taking that as full offense why the fuck not  
EB: all i’m saying is, you probably wouldn’t have the patience to deal with annoying, stuck up kids.  
EB: i mean, especially art students.  
EB: they’re the worst.  
TG: roll back on the sass egdick  
TG: at least i was never an elitist biology nerd  
TG: not like some people  
EB: sorry, i can’t quite hear you over the snapping of your over priced hipster camera.  


How was it so easy for you to fall back into the same pattern as you had before, before you argued, before you left, and before you got into this whole horrid business? It was almost too easy. But, as long as you weren’t arguing, it could be worse.

You supposed.

You guessed this was some kind of unworded and unspoken apology and agreement to get along. It wasn’t like you had a choice in the matter, especially not if Dirk and Jake pulled the same shit they pulled Saturday.

  
You said goodnight after a while, when you noticed the rays of the sun creeping into your bedroom through the cracks in the curtains and felt your eyes starting to hurt, straining to read the blue text that popped up in response to your red.

EB: yeah, i should probably go to sleep, anyway. they want me to do a talk at the aquarium for a field trip in like, six hours, so i should probably sleep, too.  
TG: have fun teaching random kids about fish  
EB: haha, yeah.  
EB: i guess i will.  
EB: have fun doing...whatever the hell you’re planning to do.  
TG: laying around and feeling sorry for myself?  
TG: dont worry i will  
TG: night  
EB: goodnight.  
\-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 06:30--  


You didn’t even notice the small, stupid smile of your face as you logged off, put your phone on your old bedside table and settled down to sleep.

You never would have expected it to become better just like that, but… it did. Although the problem was by no means eradicated, it felt like a small weight had been lifted from your shoulders. The desire to throttle John had taken a backseat role, and you could at least try to be friendly with him.

You didn’t exactly have a choice, so obviously you were going to choose the lesser of two evils and get along with him.

Try to, anyway.  
  


But currently, that was the least of your worries, as you were finally going to be talking to Jade after six years of radio silence, and she was not pleased with you in the slightest when she woke up with that message in her pesterchum, and continued to berate you in bright green all caps, calling you a plethora of insulting names and using colourful verbs and nouns together in really creative ways. You agreed to meet her for coffee to ‘catch up’ (and no doubt let her beat you up) at the local coffee house on the Wednesday, the day after you finally sucked it up and unblocked John. She seemed happy with that, and she promised to meet you at 12, insisting that you’d recognise her as soon as you saw her.

As much as you disliked facing your problems (not that Jade was a problem, of course! She was an absolute angel! Honest.), you wanted to do this. You found that it was infinitely better resolving your problems than letting them fester, contrary to what you may have thought beforehand.

* * *

And so there you were, sat in the window of the coffee store, stirring a candy cane in your almost finished hot chocolate and watching the candy red of the dye come off in the remaining foam. It wasn’t even Christmas yet, what right did they have to start putting Christmassy festive bullshit on the menu? Don’t people know they’re essentially paying almost twice as much for a drink that they could, essentially, ask for any other time?

_  
Said the moron drinking it._

  
_Anyway._ No vaguely Jade looking women walking around outside, from what you could see. Maybe she was just late? Or, teaching you a lesson by keeping you waiting for hours, watching you from a distance so she could see you slowly crack under the pressure, or something.  
  
Nah. That was too cruel.  
And more Rose’s thing.

“Dave Strider, just because it’s been six years, doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to recognise me when I’m stood right in front of you!” A very familiar voice  made you turn your head, and you stared up at you old, vaguely miffed friend.  
She was taller and had her hair tied up, but was most definitely the same Jade Harley you had always known. She even had the same round glasses she treasured when she was younger balancing on the bridge of her nose, and that old blue shirt she treasured on. She was right, she _did_ look exactly the same.

You stood up, attempting a smile, and as soon as you were up she socked you hard in the arm.

  
_Jesus, what the hell!?_

  
“Ow! What the _fuck_?” That girl still had a hell of a right hook. None of the other patrons looked up when you got publicly victimised, and the baristas only glanced up briefly, so you figured either Jade beat people up in here on the daily or these people were just as into minding their own business as they were in New York.

“That, is for leaving without saying goodbye, fuckass!” She said, but it looked like her heart wasn’t really in it. And you couldn’t exactly take her seriously when she used that insult. “And this, is for coming back!” Then, in a complete change of tone, she reached out for you and pulled you into a tight hug Yeah, this girl had certainly been working on the glutes while you were gone. It took you a moment before you hugged back, significantly less tightly but with just as much feeling.

  
God, you _missed_ her. _So_ much.

  
“I’m sorry. Missed you, Harley.” You smiled into the side of her hair. She was only an inch or so shorter than you, but it hardly made with of a difference.

“Missed you too, dumbass.” You could feel her grinning into your neck, and you were sure that anyone else would think you were two lovers meeting after weeks of being apart.

But no, Jade wasn’t really your type.

  
One fresh hot chocolate and a coffee later, you were sat back down and talking. You caught up-- how you did in college, what you were doing for a living, why you were still wearing your respective eyewear ("Aviators aren't cool, Dave! You look like a dork!" "You wound me, Jade. I'm hurt.") and whether you were seeing someone.

“No, I'm not seeing anyone. I’m single and ready to mingle!” She grinned, pushing some of her hair out of her face. You nodded in agreement, wondering idly if you’d ever be into her. She was cute, but she was no...whatever.

“Same. Just came find the right someone. Maybe I’m destined to be alone forever.” You sighed dramatically and she laughed.

“We should just date each other, I think.” She decided.

“Sorry Jade, you’re not my type.”

“Right, of course. We know exactly what your type is, don’t we, Dave?” Her smile turned a little more teasing, and she dropped her chin onto her palm expectantly.

“Dunno what you’re talkin' about, Jade.” You said innocently, taking a sip of your hot cocoa.

“Yes you do! Come on, Dave, I _knooow_.”

“Know _what_?”

“I know that you won’t be getting a _girlfriend_ any time soon, let’s put it that way."

“So you know that I’m into _dudes_? Woah, _shocker_. Someone tell the press, I've got a front page story for 'em.” Sure, you had dated and enjoyed dating girls in the past, but you tended to gravitate towards the more familiar sex, that being males. You weren’t gay, you just...definitely weren’t straight, either.

“Well, _duh_.” She rolled her eyes, like it was so obvious. You never made it a priority to tell people your orientation, but you never made an effort to hide it--if someone specifically asked who you were into, you’d say (without disclosing names), but you didn’t act stereotypically gay or anything. Because of that, people just assumed you liked girls. They weren’t wrong, they just weren’t as right as they thought they were. “What I’m saying is, I know you like someone. A certain someone you liked in the past.”

  
You blood ran a little cold. Oh, _God_. Did _Bro_ tell her? Did Rose know, and tell her? If she knew, then who else knew? He’d be _ruined_ , he’d never be able to live it down! “Hm?” You made the noise a little weakly, busying yourself in drinking your drink and taking more time to stare out of the window.

Her smile dropped into something more sympathetic. “It was hard for you, I get it. And I can tell there’s still something there. I’m no Rose, but I can tell that much!”

“Like I said, no idea what you’re talking about. Haven’t the faintest.”

“ _Dave_!” She scowled at you. “Rose told me everything she knew about you and John after you had left, she told me because she was worried you had flipped out and might have done something you regretted! I know what happened between you two!”

Rose. That _bitch_. You buried your head in your hands and groaned gently. “Fuck. That’s _fantastic_. So, you gonna scold me for taking off, again?”

“No, not right now. I’m going to tell you to make amends with him, though.”

“I already did.”

“ _Did_ you?” She asked skeptically. “Or did you just agree not to shout at each other anymore? You need to tell each other why you’re upset in the first place! You need to _tell_ him why you’re hurting still, Dave!”  
  
“Jesus, _alright_! I've already had this from Bro, I don’t need it from you, too.” You fucking _hated_ confrontation. “It’s...difficult, okay? I ran away without assessing my bad emotions in the first place, and now I’m back and practically face to face with John, all of those emotions are coming back at once. And it’s not _fun_ , Jade.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“I dunno.” You confessed. “I really, don’t know.”

You left the coffee house not long after, exchanging phone numbers and giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek that she reciprocated, and she forced you to promise to breach the subject with Rose, to see whether her opinions were on it were any different from yours or Jade’s, and to see what you should do.

"She's the expert, not me." Jade said, with a small smile and a wave before she turned and left.

  
You had made up with John, or so you thought-- but all at once that weight was back on your shoulders again, the overwhelming responsibility handle a situation that you essentially caused and to do something or say something that would potentially end really, really badly was terrifying.

You really didn’t want to do this, not so soon after you had made up and began to heal the wounds you had collected over time from being with John.

****You thought it was fine like this.

In fact, it was fine. You saw no reason to change anything. 

It was fine.

But if it _was_ fine, why did you still feel so damn _conflicted_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr at porrimspantyhose!! If you've got any questions about the fic, predictions on what you think is going to happen next, or even just to tell me how much (or little) you've enjoyed it, I'd love for you to send me an ask!!


	7. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Things Almost Seem Normal. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ssssssssorry for the slightly late update!! I have no excuse other than writer's block and being plain lazy, tbh.  
> Anyway, this chapter is a bit short because of that, but it has some development I that I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also. New character cameo! Let's just say, I enjoyed the punswith this one 8D

Of course, you didn’t expect everything to do back to normal as soon as you logged off early that morning. What even was ‘normal’ to the two of you, now? Normal was radio silence, pretending the other didn’t exist and getting angry when he did, not...not this.  
Not, staying up until dawn laughing and teasing and joking like nothing happened, like you were friends again.

But you knew it couldn’t be that easy, it couldn’t, but-- it seemed like it was. Waking up that next morning, you felt an inexplicable lightness on your shoulders, and the smile on your face came easier than you realised it could. You didn’t even notice before, how heavy the burden of hating Dave was, or even that there was a weight at all until it had all gone away.  


  
That morning you got up, still a little groggy from how little sleep you had gotten, and you showered, tried in vain to sort out your hair (you needed to get it trimmed, actually, it looked like even more of a mess than usual), got dressed, and left your apartment after eating and brushing your teeth with a spring in your step and a little time to spare. You were supposed to be giving a talk on the different things you studied at the aquarium at quarter to, and it was quarter past when you arrived at the vast building. You were almost always late, so this was a fantastic start to what you hoped would be a fantastic day.  


“Wait a minnow, that _can’t_ be right!” Called a voice from within the vast room containing the huge glass tanks, and a short, afro-trinidadian woman with dreads twisted into a bun and bright pink fluorescent goggles around her neck atop her full length black wetsuit. You were honestly surprised Feferi wasn’t wearing the flippers while walking around, this time. “You’re early, water you doing here before the guppies are here?” You knew she was teasing you, from the way her mouth was stretched into a wide grin and she had her hands on her hips, but you didn’t find it in you to care. You were in too much of a good mood.  


Feferi Peixes was one of your cousin’s best friends, having met in College and become roommates throughout the years studying in their respective science fields and to the present day. You never actually realised Feferi was even in the same classes as you until she started hanging out with Jade,and then the two of you maintained your own easy friendship-- mostly work orientated, but you always welcomed her company during your frequent visits to hers and Jade’s house and to the aquarium.  


“Good morning to you too, Feferi.”  


“Good morning! It’s great to see you so clam and collected, rather than floundering about like you normally are! What’s gotten into you?”  


“I guess I just woke up on the right side of the bed today!” You replied with a shrug and a smile, and you believed you had. Probably a little to do with Dave, but a lot to do with the fact that you had finally got your mindset into perspective. “You look pretty relaxed too; you’re practically glowing. How is everything with you?”  


She answered at first with a small grin and the meek averting of eyes. “Good relationship things. The buoys are spoiling me, lakely.” Feferi was in what you had recently come to understand as a polyamorous relationship with two guys. One of them, Sollux, was one of your (well, one of Dave’s) friends in High school, and the other, Eridan, was a rich, liberal arts douchebag who also went to the same high school as the rest of you, and knew Feferi from the rich and elite gatherings upper class people always seemed to have before she moved here for college. Interestingly enough, Sollux and Eridan always seemed to detest each other in back in school, so they were the last two people you’d expect to be in a relationship with what you only assumed was a mutual love between three people.  


"That's great!"  


"Shell's everything with you and Vriska? I heard she swam off up to new Jersey for work?"  


"Ah, yeah." Your memory went back to that day when she told you, and you screamed at each other when she assumed you would drop everything to go with her. Although you had made up, you didn't quite realise how much the argument itself bothered you. It wasn’t the first time you regarded Vriska with a feeling of dismay and a slight disdain, and it wasn’t the first time that fact worried you a little. “Everything’s great! I miss her, obviously, but what can you do? She has her job, and I have mine. And that’s okay.” You shrugged. It was no big deal, you’d see each other soon. Hopefully New Year, if not Christmas.  


“Hmm,” She hummed, almost sympathetically, at you, but her smile brightened again. “Is there anything else new?” She asked. There was something behind her smile that told you she knew something, and you had a feeling you knew what. You weren’t quite sure how she knew, though.  


“You know, same old….Dave, did come back down to Texas to visit.” You said it like it was something that happened every day, but in actual fact he hadn’t been down in about six years, and even then the last thing you heard of him he had abandoned you...no, that’s in the past. You’ve moved on, you’ve made up.  


  
The smile widened. “I heard! Jade told me this morning.” The grin faltered a bit when she continued. “She dolphinately looked like she was angry. I hope she hasn’t made anemone of Dave!”  


Oh, _jeez_. That wasn’t a conversation you envied Dave having. Jade was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry. “If she has, it won’t last long. I don’t know, maybe they’re making up as we speak? You know as well as I do, Jade’s foul moods are scary, but brief.”  


  
“No squidding…” She said with a small laugh. She looked past you to the entrance, to which you turned and stared with her. A class of kindergarteners were beginning to file by two towards the door. “Whale, water you waiting for? You better get going, you have some guppies to teach, don’t you?” She pushed your shoulder lightly and gave a friendly wink, before leaving for her own sector, presumably to prepare for her own talk for the children.  


  
  
It was only later when you decided after some internal debate to talk to Jade about the whole ordeal with her and Dave, and you swung by her work around five in the evening, when you knew she got off work for the day.

 Jade was a physics teacher at the local high school, and for at least a year she had been trying to get you to take a year to train to be a teacher in biology. Personally, you didn’t think it’d be a good idea-- you weren’t the worst with kids, but that was children, teenagers were a whole different ballpark. They were bitchy, dramatic and hormonal, and knowing exactly how that felt, you weren’t sure if you wanted to be around that again. You explained that to her, but that didn’t mean she was planning on stopping. You guessed she just wanted another friend in the school.

She exited the gates of the school, spotting you leaning against the tan brick wall (not in a douchey way; just kind of...leaning) as she exited the premises, and she made her way towards you with a smile. “Hey! You don’t normally come to meet me after work. What’s the occasion?”  


“ _Occasion_?” You raised your eyebrows. “There doesn’t have to be an occasion, Jade, can’t I just see my darling cousin after work?” Once she was level with you you began to walk back in the direction of her house. You never liked the fact that she left work for home when it was dark out, but you knew she was more than capable in looking after herself. Even so, you did feel a little better when you met her occasionally, like your conscience could rest.  


“Hmm. Well, that’s fine!” Jade moved her bag further onto her shoulder. “How was your aquarium talk today? Did you inspire any young minds?”  


“Maybe, I don’t know.” You shrugged. “They liked the fish, I guess that’s what counts. And at least five of them asked me if I swam with dolphins in five different ways.”  


She laughed a little. “Is that all? No one wants to be a super cool fish guy when they grow up?”  


“Okay, when you say it like that, it sounds lame.”  


  
Another quiet laugh, and you were left in a comfortable silence. A silence, you had discovered from a young age, was a clear indication as to who someone was to you. There were few people you felt comfortable sharing a lengthy quiet wit-Jade, your sister Jane, and your father, notably. Once upon a time, that had extended to Dave, too- though you knew it wouldn’t be the same now. You remembered last time you saw him, at the bar, you had been itching to leave the moment he arrived, and the stifling silence between the two of you during that time was enough to make you feel nauseous.  
You were a talkative person. You couldn’t go long  without talking to the person you were with if a hush descended on the conversation; it just wasn’t right to leave a still ripe with discussion talk unfinished. In the back of your mind, you were still reminded of the “every time you have an awkward silence, a puppy dies!” told to you by Vriska, back when you were a lot younger. Of course, you didn’t believe that for a moment, but. It still bothered you.

After a while of walking, and feeling the air grow a little colder and the sky a little darker, Jade wound her arm around yours in a quiet display of affection (and to possibly sap you of your warmth) and you broke the silence with the clearing of your throat. “So,” You said. “You spoke to Dave, today?”  


“Ah, so that’s why you came to see me!”  


“What? No! I wanted to see you, that was just something that popped into my head!” You defended, feeling a little embarrassed. Okay, maybe that was your primary reason for going, but you were curious!  


You could feel Jade smirking at the side of your face as your eyes watched the ground below you as you walked, and she spoke. “He messaged me, early in the morning whilst I was asleep, apologising after six years of complete silence. I was NOT happy with him, at all.”  


“Hah...yeah, I heard, Feferi told me she heard you shouting and cursing this morning.”  


“Gossiping about me with my roomie, are we?” She was grinning again, and you couldn’t help but smile back.  


“Yeah, totally. Jade Harley, almost too chirpy too function.”  


“Was that a Mean Girls reference?”  


“No.”  


  


* * *

  
You found yourself, after days of scraping together the remainder of foods of questionable freshness and living off of take out, having to go shopping the next day. You figured that a grown man could only live so long sustained with nothing but milk, toast and fast food, so there you were, leaving your apartment to walk to the supermarket through the city centre.  


Usually, you’d be going with Vriska, so this was strange. She liked shopping (or, she liked spending your money) and you liked spending time with her, despite how frequently you argued. But you didn’t miss her as much as you expected. Rather, you thought about her once in a while, and just about remembered to call her (she never called you), and while that should have worried you, it was just how things always were.  


You entered the city centre, hugging your jacket against your body (you knew you should have brought a scarf, or a heavier coat, or something with) and running through your head the things you needed to get whilst at the store.  


_Some more bread, cereals, probably some vegetables, fruit...Dave...Wait, Dave?_  


  
Dave.  


He was there, standing about two metres up from you in front of one of the many starbucks in your city, watching Jade (you would have thought she’d tell you if she met up with him, that traitor) walk off in the opposite direction. Maybe… _maybe_ if you tried to edge past him, he wouldn’t notice you? Or, maybe you could just go home, and go shopping tomorrow? Yeah, that sounds good.

Or, not. He turned around, presumably to go somewhere else, and he faced you, his ever so slight smile dropping like a ton of bricks the moment he lay eyes on you.  


__  
Fuck.  


  
Okay well, what _now_? Were you just going to stare at each other, while disgruntled passersby manoeuvred around the two of you?  
Eventually, in what was probably a minute but felt like a year, Dave spoke.

  
“Hey.”  


“Uh,” You remember how to speak, right? _Right_. “Hi! Uh, fancy seeing you here.”  


“I said you were gonna be seeing me around.”  


“Right, right. You did.” You stepped out of the way and apologised to a woman with a baby in a stroller and a slightly older child attached with one of those child leashes to her wrist, and you looked back at him. “Was that Jade, just now?”  


“You saw her?” He scratched the side of his face a little and you nodded. “Yeah, uh. She wanted to hang out and catch up, so we got coffee.” You can only imagine she told him off at least a little, and the thought of her scolding Dave like she did with her students made you laugh, even if it was only internally. “What’re _you_ doing here?”  


“I was...going to get groceries. I’m running low on stuff, I’m pretty much surviving on--sorry..” You stepped out of the way of another pedestrian and closer to Dave, partly because he was nearer the side of the storefronts from the road (therefore in the safer position) and partly so he could hear you better. You felt kind of like an asshole speaking from two meters away. “I’ve been pretty much surviving on takeout and toast for three days.”  


“Sounds like my fucking childhood diet, nothin’ wrong with that.” He gave you a grin, and for some reason you felt elated. It was the first time in six years you saw Dave smile, and you returned it tenfold.  


“Yeah, well. Are you still eating like that?” You asked.  


 He shrugged. “I guess so. All I know is, pizza and chinese takeout are old friends who have recently made a big impact on my diet once more.” So, yes.

“You should probably get some better food, it’s okay when you’re a kid, but when you’re older you’ll end up getting heart problems.”  


“I guess so.” He repeated. “Wouldn’t want to rob anyone of this.” He swept his hands over his body in a grandiose gesture and you gave a small laugh.  
  


_Go on. Ask if he’ll join you shopping. Re-establish your friendship. Strengthen the bond._  


  
“Uh--”  


“You’re...going shopping, right?”  


“Oh, yeah. Yeah I am.”  


“I could join you. Consider me your in flight entertainment, all access V.I.P. pass, no holds barred, D Striddy in the house.” God, that fucking rambling. You had to do something about that one day. “Unless...unless you don’t want me to come. I mean, I can be totally quiet if you would prefer, stay a couple of steps back--”  


“No! You can...you can go with me. No problem.” You were being so formal all of a sudden; Him, promising to give you your space and not talk, and you, treating him like a mere acquaintance, even though history suggested otherwise.  


“A’ight, cool.” He almost looked relieved. “You going now?”  


“Yep. That’s what I set out to do.”  


“Okay, so…” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the story. “Shall we?”  


The tension developing in your shoulders was still there, but you gave him a smile that you hoped looked at least half relaxed. “Yeah, let’s go. Onwards!”  


  


You walked, you beside but a little bit behind Dave as you walked down the sidewalk with him in silence. He didn’t stop to look back at you, but you could tell there was the same amount of stiffness in his body as there was in yours. It was a little awkward, and you were beginning to regret agreeing going shopping with him.

Eventually, you came to a crossing and stood level with him, along with the other people wanting to cross the road.  You looked over at Dave and saw him shuffling his feet a little absent mindedly, hands in his pockets and staring straight at the passing cars before the lights turned red and the people waiting surged forward.  
You crossed, walking at the same pace, and somehow the distance still felt exactly the same. It still felt awkward, and it still felt like you were further away than a foot from each other.

“Sorry.” The word tumbled from your mouth, and Dave turned to look at you, eyebrows raised and looking just as surprised as you probably did.  


“What?”  


“I’m...sorry. I know I came across as a huge asshole when I saw you last.”  


“I wasn’t much better, was I? I’m inherently a dick, but I dunno. I pushed it.”  


“I just...you left.” You shrugged and put your hands in your pockets. He didn’t respond, and he looked quietly at you for a moment before turning back to look at the sidewalk.  


Looked like that was the end of that conversation.  


  


You got to the store eventually, the bright artificial light making a bright flare show up on Dave’s shades and making you squint behind your own lenses as you entered and retrieved a cart. Dave opted for no cart or basket, explaining when you asked that he ‘had two god given hands, and he sire as shit wasn’t going to deny them of their usage’. Which was absolutely ridiculous, but you’d let him figure that out in due course.  


Even after six years, it seemed like Dave’s quirks were exactly the same. He still walked, a little hunched over, down the aisles and naturally gravitated towards the artificial and processed foods like a vulture towards a dead armadillo.  


“...I thought you said you were going to get healthy options?” You asked scrutinisingly, as he picked up a couple of frozen pizzas. He looked over his shoulder at you and frowned.  


“Get off of my back, Egbert.” He said. “It’s a balanced meal-- tomato, cheese, pepperoni, and dough.”  


“Weren’t you the one who said that you shouldn’t be eating pizza?”  


“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of saying something like that. I’m _hurt_.”  


  
You snorted and carried on down the aisle, picking up a bag of frozen fries. Okay, so maybe your diet wasn’t that great either, but at least you could confidently say that it was somewhat balanced, you at least attempted to get your five a day, even if it only amounted to three.  


You looked back at him still down by the pizza and saw him put one back and follow you down, and you smiled a little. Guess he was listening to you, for once. He caught up and you passed through to another aisle, repeating the process of ‘that isn’t healthy’ (courtesy of you) and ‘shut up John, I know what I’m doing’  (courtesy of Dave, before he put half of his accumulated food item back) until Dave had an armful of food, trying to see past his nose high pile and looking kind of ridiculous.  
It was only when he had stopped to put down the pile and pick up something that had fallen from it for the third time when you asked him, “Do you want to put your stuff in my cart?”

“And say I was wrong not to get a basket? Never.”  


“Well, okay. Your decision.” You said lightly, with a grin, and you carried on. You heard the crinkling of another bag of something calling behind you, and your smirk widened when you heard him approach the cart and silently dump his stuff in a pile away from your own. “So, you admit you were wrong?”  


“I admit I got more stuff than I anticipated, _not_ that I was wrong.” He corrected. “Quit lording it over me, I can see the self-righteous smirking, like the piece of shit you are.”  


“Wow.” You simply said, with the aforementioned self-righteous smirk spread across your face, and you carried on.  


  
When you were certain you had everything you needed, and you had gone around the grocery store twice because Dave wasn’t totally sure what he wanted, you lined up for the checkout desk, dropping in a pack of gum from the shelf beside the till into your pile and loading your stuff onto the conveyor belt. The girl serving had gone to your highschool, and she smiled a little brighter with the recognition, but almost completely ignored Dave when it was his term. At one point, you remember you went on a date with her, so that might have been why. Either way, Dave seemed more than a little peeved when his things were paid for and he met you where you were standing just beyond the checkout.  


“How come you get all smiles and battin’ eyelashes, and all I get is off-pink bubblegum bubbles and a deliberate lack of eye contact? Favouritism.”  


“I dated her really briefly in Sophomore year, I’m pretty sure. Maybe that’s why?” You guessed. His eyebrows twitched and you could detect some unidentifiable emotion cross his face before it was all gone, and he became impassive once more.  


“Oh.”  


“Hmm.”  


He looked at his bags and he raised his eyebrows for what must’ve been the fifteenth time this hour, and he manoeuvred them awkwardly to get something out of one of them. 

  
_Oh._  
  
  
The gum you picked up, it must’ve been dropped into his stuff rather than yours when you put it in the cart. “You forgot about this. I paid for it but I’m pretty sure it’s yours.”  


“Oh, shit. Yeah, thanks!” You smiled. “Did you want the money for it?”  


“Dude, it was like, a dollar. I think I’ll live with the crippling debt.”  


“Oh. Well, thanks.” You put the two bags in your left hand down and reached over to his waiting hand to get the gum.  
Your hand brushed his and you felt what seemed like a short and a shiver combined roll down your fingertips, and something down your spine and in your stomach, and you were so surprised you dropped the gum, seeing it drop with a tiny ‘clack’ at your feet. You glanced at Dave and another emotion, brows furrowed and lips parted, on his face, before he crouched and got your gum for you, standing up straight and handing it out to you, again.

“Now make sure you don’t fuckin’ drop it, this time.” He murmured, though his voice was a fraction weaker and slightly shaky. You weren’t totally sure why that was, and you weren’t sure why your voice sounded the same.  


“Y-yeah. Thank you.” You were never normally this clumsy. Sure, a little more than average, but you could grab a pack of fucking gum without dropping it like a moron. What had gotten into you?

“No problem. Like I said, I got your back, Jack.”

You tittered, and put the gum in your pocket, picking up the bags again and beginning to walk, leaving the grocery store with Dave hot on your heels, stopping so he could walk with you.  


  
  
The walk back to where he was to leave you (a little further up from the coffee shop you saw him at earlier, actually) was less awkward, and despite the clinging confusion from earlier in the back of your mind you joked and talked, and it almost seemed like you were back to normal. You said goodbye to him, and he did his best to give you a two finger salute with the bag in his hand, before he left and turned a corner. You went the rest of the way home, taking you only a couple of minutes before you walked through the entrance of your apartment, dropped your bags down on the counter in the kitchen, and went back to shut the door.  


  
That’s when the shock of your reaction when your hands touched hit you, and you looked down at your hand with an expression of wonder and dissonance. You shook your hand free of something-- you weren’t totally sure what of, but it seemed like the right thing to do to set your mind at ease. And it did.  


  
_That was weird._   


  
What you couldn’t shake off was the expression Dave gave you back then, the fleeting and turbulent emotions that crossed over his face, that you couldn’t identify but had no doubt that they were there.  


It was weird, but...he almost looked hurt. And he moved away the moment he returned the gum, like he was repulsed by your very being.  


It looked like you hadn’t really made up, after all.  


And that bothered you more than you expected. Sure, you had told each other you were pissed off with the other, but you hadn’t really talked-- you were no expert at reading people and being able to tell if something was wrong and how someone was feeling, but you knew there were some things Dave wasn’t telling you, you could see it in his walk, the way he was talking, in the very air he breathed. You were determined to find out what.  


Maybe that was the reason he left. Who knows?  


 _You_ sure as fuck didn’t.  
  


You busied yourself with putting your things away, and before long you had made yourself a decent dinner for the first time in half a week, sitting down at the table with the news murmuring quietly as a source of background sound and to make the apartment seem less empty.  


You couldn’t quite get used to it, how quiet and empty the apartment seemed without Vriska in. You missed her, you really did. But although you missed her more than you realised you would, she didn’t exactly appear to feel the same way. She rarely picked up her phone, and when she did it was like she didn’t want to speak with you. Sure, her voice sounded the same as it always did, but there was something...absent.  


it was probably nothing. She missed you just as much as you missed her!  


You realised at this point, that you had been staring into your half empty plate, and your phone was flashing with the indication that you had received a message. Maybe, speak of the devil, it was Vriska and she wanted to see how you were!  


The hope was there, but it diminished as soon as you saw orange text and you couldn’t help the slight disappointment that rose in your stomach.  
Still, there was no harm in seeing what he had to say.

TT: We wondered if you wanted to come over for a party on the 3rd.  
TT: We being me, Dave and Bro.  
TT: Actually not Dave, he doesn’t know.  
TT: Consider it a surprise party of the birthday boy.  
TT: A.k.a. Dave. **** TT: You’ll come, won’t you? He’ll probably appreciate it, even if he doesn’t admit it and sulks in the corner like a big fucking baby, a la Dave Strider.  


Would you? You guessed it couldn’t hurt. The feeling when you touched his hand from earlier sprung back into your mind and you pushed it away stubbornly. No, stupid thoughts. Get back. Stay. Bad thoughts. It couldn’t hurt.

  
_Fuck it._  


EB: sure.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!


	8. The Bitter Taste In Your Mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Dave Remembers Some Things And Has A Birthday (Pt 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyyy 100 kudos! Thank you for sticking with me this long, I can only promise it'll get better!  
> This is by far my longest fic, and I'm not even finished yet!  
> Also, a very Happy St.Patrick's day to all my fellow Irish people, even though tbh we don't really celebrate it as much as people think.

When you got home that day, after seeing John and going shopping with him, you couldn’t stop shaking. You maintained your cool throughout your trip back home, but the moment you got into your apartment complex you sped up the stairs (the elevator never fucking worked), practically burst through the door, and dropped the bags you had carelessly in the hallway right in front of the door, standing there and breathing disjointedly.

  
_No. No, no, no, no, nononono._  
 _This can’t be happening, this can’t be fucking happening._

  
You thought you had left this all behind you, in the back of your mind, and moved on with your life. But, the moment your hands touch… sparks fucking _flew_.  
And you were horrified.

Because, if that were the case then that’d mean the thing you thought you were so reverently over, you were not over at all. And you didn’t want that!

You didn’t…

You didn’t want to be in love with him again.  
  
  
You jumped when you heard the door open and Dirk walk in behind you, closing the door with barely more than a click and picking up the groceries that had rolled out of the bags when you cast them on the floor.

“There a special reason you’re just standing there, or are you trying to blend in with the scenery?”

“What?” You asked, cleverly, looking at him now equipped with your bags of shopping. “No, uh. Thinking. I was thinking, you just interrupted my creative process. Dick.”

“Uh- _huh_. Alright, if you say so, man.” He turned to take the bags to be sorted in the living room. “Just stop standin’ there, you’re making the place look untidy.”

“Shut up.” You broke out of your spell of standing there like a dick, and followed him through the hallway. “What are you even doing here?”

“Jade called over to take Jake shopping. I think she wanted a second opinion on the plethora of plants overtaking her garden, whether she needs more or not.”

“And she decided to take Jake? The clueless one who’d probably be more likely to mow down a flower than fucking nurture it? Okay, cool. Makes sense.”  


“Hell knows.” He shrugged and sat on the couch. “Heard you met up with her today,” He said, carefully moving a smuppet which had found it’s way jammed in between the two couch cushions up onto the arm of the couch.

“Yeah.” You replied bluntly, hoping he’d like it at that.  He didn’t. He always wanted up in your business, sometimes you thought he and Bro were the same person. But that’d be ridiculous, right?

“Judging by the fact that you haven’t had the shit beaten out of you, I’m guessing it went well.”

“Yep.”

“Anything happen after that?”

“Why are you up in my business, all of a sudden? Have you been taking tips from Rose, or something?”

“It’s a family trait, one that _you_ apparently missed out on.” You could feel his eyes on you as you fished through the bags until you found one of the bottles of juice you bought, twisted the seal and drank. “You looked like a deer in the headlights just now. _Clearly_ somethin’ happened. I’m not Rose, but I can tell that much.”

“You sure, you’re channelin’ her pretty well right now.” You caught the slightly disparaging glance he gave you and you shut up, long enough for you to sit down on the opposite end of the couch, before you continued in more of a meeker tone. “I saw John, we went shopping.”

“ _You_ went _shopping_?”

“ _Yes_ , I went _shopping_. It’s not that crazy, fuck you.”

A short chuckle, and in the corner of his peripheral vision you saw him shake his head. “Is that what spooked you so much?”

“Spooked seems like kind of an exaggeration-”

“I don't know...like I said, you had the deer in headlights look pretty much perfected.”  
  
  
You knew what he was trying to do, but he wasn’t anywhere near as good as Rose was at this shit--  he _wasn’t_ going to break you that easily, if you made it difficult enough for the Seer of Everyone’s Fucking Business herself, there was no chance he was going to figure it out, brother or not. “Nothin’ happened.”

“Sure.”

He didn’t have to know. You were sure you’d forget about it soon enough,and everything would go back to normal soon enough.

 

* * *

  
John had been acting a little... _off_ , recently.

Well, he always acted off, ever since he started dating Vriska. It was like she policed his every movement, you rarely got to see him outside school, and when you did he was constantly checking his phone for a message from her, and it pissed you off. You sort of wanted to just...grab his phone and throw it to the side, and tell him he was too good for her and…

But no. You were a Strider. That wasn’t your style.

Instead, you watched from the sidelines, and waited to pick up the pieces that would inevitable scatter when she broke his heart.

It hurt to just...sit there and do that, but you had no choice. You had no say in their relationship, despite the desire to shout how it was abusive and dishonest and cruel. Because it wasn’t your relationship, however much you wanted it to be. And you didn’t mean you were into Vriska, because that was fucking ridiculous, she was sociopathic and manipulative.

  
You… you had a thing for John. A big thing, for a while, and it was needless to say that there wasn’t much of a chance of it simmering down any time soon, especially at the rate he was depending more and more on you whenever Vriska had some something especially shitty, or if he couldn’t sleep and needed someone to talk to. It was nice to be wanted.  
That, and the rate in which he had started to unknowingly become more and more attractive, and was slowly but surely becoming a lot taller than you, whilst you grew at a snail’s pace and stayed the same awkward skinny kid you had been since you started puberty, just minus the acne that thirteen year old you had been inflicted with.

You had no chances with him-- he was not only straight, but also in a relationship (albeit with a manipulative bitch), and he would never see you as anything more than as his best bro that he could come to with any problem without fear of judgement.

And, no matter what, you had to force yourself to be okay with that.

  
It happened a lot sooner than you expected. You were honestly surprised he was able to dial the number with how drunk he seemed on the other end. At this point in your lives John wasn’t really a drinker; although you were and always had been more of a lightweight, John had hardly drank before that, aside from the odd glass of champagne at New Years and that time just before his sixteenth birthday when you sneaked a four pack of beer from under the sink at your apartment and shared it with him in your bedroom. Neither of you were especially impressed at the taste.

Which was why it surprised you when he rang you, a little drunk and a lot distressed.

“Yeah? What’s up, Egbert-” About time he rang you, he hadn’t been online all day, you were beginning to miss his company.  
  
Miss him.

  
“I need you ta’ come over.”

“What?”

“Please,” He pleaded, and you could hear the slur in his voice. “Come over. My dad’s out.”

“Are you _drunk_?”

“I’m not drunk, don’t be stupid--” He interrupted himself with a hiccup. “Shit. I might be a lil’ drunk.”

“For fuck’s sake… you’re at home?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Kay. What’s so pressing that I have to get dressed and prettied up to go over your place? Aside from the fact that you’re drunk, which is enough of a reason because you might do somethin’ stupid.”

“...Vriska cheated on me. She broke up with me.”

  
Oh.

And there were the pieces you had to stick back together again. You swore, if you ever _saw_ that bitch…

  
“I’m coming over.” You heard your mouth say before you registered you said it. “I’ll see you soon...don’t do anything stupid. Please.” You made him promise to stay safe before you dropped the call and got dressed as quick as a flash, called into the possibly empty but also possibly not empty apartment that you’d be ‘staying over John’s tonight’ before shutting the door behind you.

It was still light when you stepped out of your apartment. It was the beginning of summer, May, and you found yourself wanting to peel off the hoodie beginning to vacuum seal itself to your skin with the sweat beginning to surface. Gross. You’d take it off when you got to John’s.  
And you did, not long after, knocking on the door and waiting for the shadow of your best friend to show up  behind the frosted glass in the window of his front door.

  
When he opened the door, you couldn’t help but sigh and probably look the picture of a concerned mother hen. He looked…  
Well. He looked _devastated_. And understandably so, he really liked Vriska.

Despite all the shit she put him through, he really, really did like her. That’s why you were so angry when it seemed like he was nothing but a joke to her, or a plaything that she could just throw away when she got tired of him. It was an insult to him, and now his heart was fucking shattered.

  
“Oh God, Egbert.” You groaned, slipping past him into his house. You heard him close the door behind you and stop by you as you took your shoes off. Looking up at him once your socked feet touched the carpet, you added, “You look like shit.”

“I _feel_ like shit.” He responded without a beat,and he almost tripped up on air as he tried to make it past you to the stairs. You gripped onto him almost instantly, keeping him upright despite his body’s lack of core balance and how surprisingly (though unsurprisingly, judging by the fact that he was a lot taller than you were) heavy he was.

“Hold on to me.” You instructed sternly, and he nodded dumbly, allowing himself to be carted up the stairs, leaning on you way more than you could ordinarily cope with. However, you had to put up with it. Your best friend was sad, and it was your duty to cheer him up again. Or, at least make sure that he could get up to his room without grievously injuring himself.  
“Why’re you doin’ this to yourself? You’re gonna make yourself sick, asshole.”

  
You got that he was sad, he was heartbroken and betrayed, but drinking yourself out of misery and directly into oblivion was dangerous. It was what happened to your father, which was why he was never around and probably partially why you had such a fucked up childhood, being only raised by Bro and your barely present mother. And even then, you hadn’t seen her for two years at this point. You didn’t even think about her, really, or see her for that matter, so you weren’t too sad. She had problems, she was a free spirit who couldn’t be tied down, and it only made sense that one day she’d just...stop coming home. At that point, Bro was twenty two, long legally able to look after the two of you, so it kind of fit into place. He was practically raising you anyway (if psychological torture by smuppets/ventriloquist dummies and surprise strifes from a young age counted as raising you) so it wasn’t much of a shift. You never missed her, but then again, how could you miss someone who was never around? John was lucky he had at least one parent who loved him dearly and thought the world of him.

By this time you were up the stairs and opening the door to his bedroom, watching his stumble to the bed and face plant it, grumbling for a moment before rolling onto his side and sitting up, looking at you. “Did I mess up?” John asked you quietly, almost in a moment of soberness. “Why did she have to cheat on me?”

There was a twinge in your eyebrows and you pursed your lips as you fought the urge to tell him that you’d never do that to him, you would appreciate him and love him, instead you sat down awkwardly on his bed and looked at him quietly. He continued.

“I guess I should have been better to her! She needed attention, and I couldn’t give it to her, and it’s my...my fault! I’m an idiot!” The soberness shifted back to intoxicated, upset rambling, and you found yourself more able to interject.

“You’re not an idiot, man… Fuck, she’s just a callous bitch, if anything you were doing the world a favour, keeping that under control. You should be sainted, or somethin’. You fuckin’ deserve it, for the shit you’ve been through.”

He just looked at you, so you took that s a silent urge to continue. “Look. I ain’t saying you’re perfect, because no one is, as much as I like to say I am, no one is. But you’re a hell of a lot better than she is, and you don’t deserve the shit she put you through. What I’m sayin’ is that you’re gonna do better without her. I know it hurts, and you feel like shit, but you’ll be alright. I’m there for you, man.” You were edging a little closer to him, perhaps in a sign to reassure that you wouldn’t leave his side, or perhaps to subconsciously bear your feelings and wear your heart on your sleeve for him. Either way, you were getting closer and John wasn’t moving away.

“Like, whatever you need to get better, I’m here. I mean, I love you, man. If you’re feelin’ like shit, I’ll feel like shit, and that won’t work. I need to be in top form, ya’ feel?”

  
He just stared at you, eyes wide and ringed with red bloodshot, mouth trying to form words, but nothing coming out. You were worried that he was even more upset with you, or just angry. And then he grabbed your face rather unceremoniously and pulled you forward to kiss him.

And then you were even more worried. Because holy shit, he was kissing you. John Egbert, self proclaimed heterosexual, was kissing you, a biological male and also his best friend. Something was _wrong_ here.

You pulled away from him, your hands curled tightly into the fabric of your skinny jeans and your eyes just as wide as his was behind your shades. You should have moved away, then. Got him a glass of water and some headache pills and encouraged him to lie down, stay there just so he didn’t end up choking on vomit on something, and pray he forgot what he did.

But you didn’t.

  
You had to admit, even then, your moral compass was sort of...skewed, because your long time crush had just kissed you, holy shit. He was drunk, and you were probably just rebound to get over her, and you were probably kind of a shit person for doing this, especially since he didn’t have all of his inhibitions on hand with him… but, you could beat yourself up about it later. All you wanted was to make him feel better.

And if this was going to make him feel better, then so be it.

  
The next part for you was a blur, despite being the completely sober one. You kissed him, he kissed back, and soon you could taste the bitterness of the alcohol he had drank before you got here. You remember the bitterness of the alcohol, and the sighs and gasps coming from John the most vividly.

Soon, shirts were off and eyewear was off and clumsy hands were unzipping flies, shaking, nervous fingers brushing against the tenting of each other’s boxers, and red eyes catching blue.

You admit, before then you hadn’t touched anyone’s dick aside from your own, and you hadn’t had your own dick touched, so it was a weird experience when John moved his hand over the thin cotton covering your erection.

“Is this okay?” You breathed out, and he looked at you seriously, before nodding.

  
And the rest, as they say, was history. Within five minutes you came with stars in front of your eyes, John following not long after, and you passed out out not long after you cleaned yourself off.

  
The morning after you woke to streaming light and John’s bare back a soft tan colour in your eyeline on the bed. When you shifted slightly, he turned where he was sitting, with the glass of water in his hand. And before you could even open your mouth to even speak, to wish him good morning or tell him what a good night you had, he interjected with “I’m not gay.”

That left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you knew this was a bad idea. You just needed to get out of there as quick as you could, all the while keeping an impassive expression on your face. “Oh. Cool, me neither. I was just helping out a bro.” Hopefully he didn’t hear the crack in your voice.

Obviously he didn’t, from how casually he seemed to be acting. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate it. We should do it more often.”

“As _bros_?” Your voice sounded strained and painful, and if he didn't hear the anguish in your voice then, you knew he wouldn't for a long time.

“Yeah,” He qualified. “As bros. Just to help each other out.”

It was there he posed the suggestion of ‘ _friends with benefits_ ’. Mess around and still attempt to remain as you always were: best friends. Only now, it was best friends, plus a little more, without people knowing any different. Because heaven forbid John is seem as anything other than straight.

That’s probably around the same time you started to hate yourself for loving him.

It was around the time he began to ruin you with every single little thing he did.

 

* * *

  
You couldn’t sleep. You kept tossing and turning, and not only because you were practically a year older today. It was your birthday, and you were partially excited (sure, you were 25, but birthdays were still pretty fun, even if it was the idea that you’d get a little less shit than you would if it weren’t your birthday rather than the idea of a party and presents and having to see people who were your ‘friends’ despite not seeing most of them for six years), but partially dreading it. It was the first time in a long time you had spent a birthday in Texas, so you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

You turned over and searched blindly for your phone in the darkness, turning the screen towards you and pressing the power button to see the screen flash up and display the time.

_  
3:23._

  
No one would be up at this time. No one sane, anyway.

And clearly, you weren’t sane,because you found yourself unable to fall back asleep, tossing and turning for the next few minutes, before you let out a frustrated groan and scrubbed your hands against your face.

_  
Fuck this. Fuck all of this._

  
You sat up, peering around the still-dark room, and you resolved to get up and at least attempt to do something. Even if, if what you did next was any indication, ‘something’ involved relocating to the living room, turning on the tv, and sitting there in your pyjama bottoms and old t-shirt watching the infomercials no one actually watches at the crack of fucking dawn.

“Why the fuck can’t you be like you used to? Sleepin’ in until it was fuckin’ dark again?” Bro said from the other side of the room, where a door led into his own bedroom.

“Can’t sleep.” You said, simply, flipping the channels over, the glow of the tv partially illuminating the living room. You felt the couch sag slightly when Bro sat next to you and threw his arm over the back of the couch.

“So.” He said. “Twenty five. You’re gettin old.”

Like he could talk, what was he? Forty? Fifty? _Eighty?_

...You didn’t actually know.

  
“Like you can talk.”

“Ouch.” Oh, shut _up_. “At the risk of sounding affectionate, I’m happy you’re spendin’ your birthday here, this year.”

You looked at his and quirked an eyebrow. “You’re right, that does sound sickeningly affectionate.”

“Birthday or not, I’ll happily kick your ass.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the tv. “...Happy Birthday, lil’ bro.”

“...Thanks.”  And thus ended the affection between the two of you. The Striders were never an especially intimate family; you couldn’t rightly remember the last time Bro or Dirk had given you a hug (although it was more likely Dirk had given you a hug more recently than Bro-- Jake was probably influencing him and encouraging him to convey his affections for his family, or something) and you didn’t have a huge problem with that However, when you did occasionally want a hug, to hold hands, something like that, you weren’t in much luck. It kind of sucked, not having anyone around that was interested in being physically affectionate with.

  
You did end up going back to bed not long after, something about watching boring infomercials was a sure fire way of making all feasible energy drain from your body and enabling you to sleep like the dead the moment your head hit the pillow.

  
You were instructed to leave the house not long after you woke up, by both Bro and Jade, oddly enough. You weren’t sure what either of them were planning, but whatever it was, you knew you weren’t going to like it. By the time you had dried your hair from the shower and gotten dressed, Jade was waiting for you in the apartment’s living room with Bro standing in the doorway to the kitchen, talking at length to him about his smuppets and her robotics. Both parties seemed to know a great deal about the other’s subject.

  
_Weird._

  
You hung around awkwardly a few steps away from the entrance to your room. until Jade noticed you, and she smiled brightly when she did, jumping up and moving to give you a hug. “Happy Birthday, Dave! How are you feeling? Good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I’m great, thanks.” It had been her birthday the day before, and although you hadn’t gone out with her (John was going to be there, and you weren’t sure if you could face him after what happened during that shopping trip), you had wished her a happy birthday over the phone and got her a potted flower to join her multitude of others, which currently was perched precariously on the arm of the couch. She seemed to notice too, and she rescued it from inevitably falling and the pot breaking.

“I love my plant, thank you!” She held it up as clear indication that she had it, and she gestured to the makeshift table pushed up against the wall, board perched to top of piled up tinder blocks. On top was an awkwardly wrapped up present, what looked like a book.  “I hope you like it. I mean, I’m pretty sure you will, but I’m not sure if you’ve grown out of it, or if it’s something you’re still into.”

“If it’s something you got me, Harley, I’m guaranteed to love it.” It was probably true, Jade kind of had a knack for knowing what you want. Not to the extent that Rose did, that was just fucking unnerving, but she just had a good feeling about stuff like that. It was probably just luck.You moved over to the table and picked up the book, testing the weight in your hands before deciding it was pretty heavy. Probably a textbook, or a degree level workbook. You weren’t sure if that was good or bad news.  
You opened it, and you  couldn’t help but smile. Under the wrapping paper was a book on classical civilisation and archaeological investigation.

Archaeology.

She remembered.

Archeology was something you always loved-- you really liked looking at dead things, and forgotten civilisations. Hell, you even had some DIY canopic jars in your room from the ages of thirteen to fifteen filled with preserved specimens (you were a fucking weird kid).

To think that Jade remembered something you never pursued for fear of looking stupid or not being taken seriously (not like you were taken seriously as a photographer, but still),and she got you a present in the hopes that you could pursue what was once a hobby of yours, at least as an interest.  
It was touching, and way better than the gift you got her.

  
“Well looka’ that. You remembered.”

She grinned. “Yep! Surprisingly, I didn’t have to tie any string around my finger to remember that, which is a miracle.”

“I love it. Thanks, Jade.”

The smile Jade gave you could have split her face in two, and she moved to give you a tight one armed hug, the plant very nearly getting crushed in between the two of you. “You’re welcome. See? I remember my friends.” The glint in her eye suggested some pretty plain as day shade throwing, and you smirked and rolled your eyes, before remembering that she wouldn’t be able to see that.

“God, you’re funny.”

“I know. Now,” She said, taking the book from you and placing it back on the table along with her plant. “You’re coming with me.”

“That sounds sinister. You gonna do away with me and leave me in a ditch somewhere?”

She ignored you. “We’re going to do something nice! It is your birthday, after all, isn’t it?” She linked your arm and smiled brightly. You couldn’t see Bro anymore in the corner of your peripheral vision, and as far as you could tell he wasn’t going to jump you at any point, so you figured he had just lost interest and left the room, which put you a eage, even if just slightly.

“You _sure_? I don’t really wanna do anything for my birthday. I’m happy with staying in, doing shit on my laptop, knockin’ back a couple of beers and blacking out around four am. You’ll be ruining my intended plans, you sure you’re willing to face the consequences of dealing with my ass?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be dragging you out. Now, stop being so lame and let’s do something fun for your birthday!”

  
And so you were accompanied (dragged) out to the city centre. Really, you would have preferred staying in and doing nothing, but. This was also fine.

You spent an hour or so re-familiarising yourself with the place you grew up in, visiting the stores that were still open from your teenage years (you visited the odd, grimy record store that you bought your first blank vinyl and the music store that the four of you always visited) and look a look around the newer stores that had opened while you were gone (a new comic book store opened up where an empty shop used to stand for about ten years prior, and you sort of enjoyed looking around at the indie titles and wondering what would have happened if you had ever properly published your shitty comics), only going back when Jade, who was with you the entire time, announced that you should probably go home, now.

  
Well, okay. Sort of disappointing, but alright. It was kind of weird, she was acting like there was something she wasn’t telling you, but nevertheless, you followed her back like a trailing puppy.

As it turned out, there was something she wasn’t telling you. A fairly big something.

When you got back to the apartment, it was surprisingly quiet, and you had your guard up as you walked down the hallway and opened the door to the living room.

  
“Happy Birthday!” _Oh, fucking hell._

  
It looked like the whole brood was there- Bro, Dirk and Jake (the latter looking way more excited to be there than the former), even Rose and Kanaya, who must have made the trip down without telling you, Jade, who stood to wrap her arm around your waist in a tight, brief hug and a wicked grin before joining the others, and...John, who stood there, visibly awkward and smiling nervously. Even he was there. You didn’t know what to think of that.

The uncomfortable eye contact was broken when Rose and Kanaya approached to give you the obligatory hug and kiss on cheek, before handing you a present. That was the thing about couples, they only ever gave one present between them. You weren’t totally sure that was fair.  
The parcel felt soft in your hands, and was pristinely and decadently wrapped.

“Happy Birthday, dear cousin.” Rose’s lips curved into a small grin. “Have you gotten what you wanted so far, Birthday Boy?”

“You’re here; what more could I want?” You replied with your own equally sickeningly sweet and sarcastic response. You had missed this; it wasn’t quite the same over text and on the phone.

“I could certainly think of few things.” Whatever she was thinking, and why ever she was smiling, it was wrong, and she was delusional. She should probably get institutionalised, she’s a danger to society.

“How has your birthday been so far, Dave?” Kanaya cut in before her fiancee could make any more clever comments. The tall beauty was eyeing the package in your hands, like a mother would her child, and you decided this was probably something that she and Rose had made together for you. How sweet. You put it down on the table where the plant and book still lay, and returned to them.

“I hung out with Jade just now, and now my favourite people are here to spend my birthday with me. An’ Rose, of course.”

  
“What about John?” Rose quirked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Is he one of your aforementioned 'favourite people', then?"

  
_Fucking hell.  
_

Of course she’d pick up on that, why wouldn’t she? Sigmund Freud has nothing on Rose Lalonde.

“I’ll open your present later, I have a pretty good feeling I’ll love it.” You changed the subject quickly, and they exchanged looks.

“We’re sure you will.” Kanaya replied. And that same fucking smirk, from both of them this time. Kanaya was being sculpted to be like Rose, and you didn’t like it one bit. You had enough trouble with one Rose, but two Roses? _Hell nah._

  
“Great. Okay. Glad to see y’all.” You made a quick departure from the conversation, but just as quickly Jake got your attention and you were brought over to him and Dirk. They gave their congratulations, handed you some badly wrapped present, and Jake moved his eyes subtly towards where John was standing some ways behind you. You could feel his eyes trained on your back, and you considered briefly making an elaborate excuse not to talk to him at all.

“He’s starin’ you down.” Dirk said. “You better go talk to him.”

“I don’t need to.” Your voice was hushed so he couldn’t hear you. Jake frowned pointedly at you, and your eyebrows furrowed. “Fine. Okay, I’ll talk to him.” Jake was sort of...lame, sometimes, but you could see how he and Jade were related. They were very enforcing when they wanted to be, even with a look.

So, you turned and saw him looking at you, half expectantly and half in nervous anticipation.

  
And then, you approached him.

  
“Happy Birthday,” He said, with a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!


	9. Polar Opposites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Party continues, and John tries to help Dave with something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here, only that big things are happening in the next chapter!

A small smile tugged at Dave’s lips and he looked away briefly, giving you an opportunity to gather your thoughts.  
“Uh,” He said, a little clumsily. “Thanks.”

This wasn’t _remotely_ awkward. Not at all. You shuffled your feet, and Dave seemed to draw further away from you and further into himself before he spoke again. “Did Bro invite you?”

“Dirk,” You clarified. “He messaged me, about a week ago. Said it was some sort of surprise get-together, and if I wanted to go. I kind of debated not going on the premise that you wouldn’t want me there, but I guess if we don’t make an effort to normalise things, they’ll just keep on being weird, right?”

You didn’t want stuff to be weird with Dave. Certainly not. You had lost him once, gotten into a terrible argument after he returned and feared that you would never speak to him, or even regard him fondly ever again. You didn’t want it to happen again.

“I guess… but, it’s cool you came. I mean, I’m glad. Shit’s just gonna keep on being strained if we avoid each other, like you said.” You noticed he was speaking a little quieter, so as not to let anyone else hear him, you supposed. There were some people, like Rose and Bro (at least you thought he was; could never quite tell, with those shades), who were glancing over at Dave, possibly a little concerned about him. Maybe because of his apartment, or how he was gonna sustain himself? Who the hell knew. You certainly didn’t, at least.

In any case, what he said relieved you somewhat, and your smile widened. “Great!” You were already on the road to recovery, you assumed, because you had went shopping together, right? You went shopping and you had had fun, and you shared a shopping cart, and you touched...touched _hands_ …  
  
Get a _hold_ of yourself. You were acting like a confused idiot teenager, and a confused idiot teenager you certainly were _not_! It was just nerves, probably. And you were tired, and missing Vriska. Who hadn’t called you since she left for New Jersey. You tried not to let that possibility that perhaps she had moved on to greener pastures, in terms of scenery and relationships, with you being nonethewiser.

 _God_ , no. You didn’t want to even broach that subject. Not while you were already feeling confused and like a huge bundle of nerves.

  
“So Jade took you out, huh? Hot date?” You grinned, and he smirked, a short breathy chuckle leaving him.

“Yeah man, totally. _Absolutely_. Nah, I just explored the centre a little; not been there since I was a punk-ass kid,, so it's sort of an eye opening bein' there when I'm not an acne riddled teen trying to cause trouble there. Got myself a birthday present courtesy of that one dingy record store we used to go in when we were younger, and looked in the comic book store on seventh. It was fun.”

  
 _Birthday present...oh, right!_   “Speaking of, I got you something for your birthday.”

  
The surprise wasn’t instantly obvious on his face, but it was definitely there. “You did? You didn’t have to, man.”

“Well, I did! Besides, I thought you might have needed this, especially judging by the circumstances.” You told him to ‘wait there’ and you went into the kitchen, where people’s jackets were hung over chair backs and your present was stored. You were considering getting him a fire alarm, and very nearly almost bought a gag one off of the internet, but that could have been in bad taste, regardless of how hilarious you thought it might have been. So, instead, you went out of your way to get him something else, and actually thought about what he might have liked. You were thoughtful, like that.

  
“You seemed a little bit out of sorts, earlier, when Dave first came in.” You heard the voice behind you, and it was a weird mix of both comfort and discomfort as you straightened up and turned to face your old friend, Rose.

“Hello to you, too, Rose!” Your smile was a little wider and a little faker than you intended. As much as you loved Rose, and as much as you had missed her, this wasn’t something you were willing to put up with tonight. Her psychoanalysis stuff could wait until tomorrow! “Cool party, huh?” You put the wrapped up present under your arm and started to try to edge around her, where she stood in the doorway. “Well, I guess it’s not really a party, but you get the point. It’s _great_ seeing you again!”

“You know, you’re better at avoiding my prying than Dave.” Her dark plum lips were curved into a smile, and she tilted her head to the side a little and crossed her arms loosely, leaning against the doorframe. “But not good enough to get me off of your case. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, nothing’s the matter!” Typical Rose, eh? Causing mischief, making up things on the spot! There was nothing on your mind, nothing at all!

“Are you _sure_?” She asked, the smile spreading wider, like a cat who got the cream, and she pushed herself off of the doorframe to walk a little closer. You could hear chatting in the living room only a few meters from where you stood, but you doubted you could be heard by the others. “It doesn’t look like nothing, especially in the way you’re exhibiting evidence of nervousness and reluctance.”

“Haha, well that’s probably because you’re not respecting my personal space.” You stepped back a bit, your butt hitting the side of the table, and you put your hands on the blunt edge. Rose quirked an eyebrow. She clearly didn’t believe that was the reason for a second, but she stopped moving regardless.

“I think there’s something else, as well as that. Did something happen with Dave? Something _else_?”

  
Your face burned recounting that. You didn’t want to be reminded of that which you attempted so religiously to forget. About your past arrangement with Dave. "What?" She didn't...she didn't _know_ , did she?

"Come now, John; there's no point in trying to pull the wool over my eyes. Did something happen recently?"

Of course, of course she didn't know. That'd be ridiculous. Even so, the way she just seemed to know about what happened about a week ago was unnerving. It was entirely unnerving, and it scared the shit out of you. "A lot of things happened recently."

"You're being stubborn." The smile lessened to something more genuine. You might get away with this, yet. "Please, John. You know this will only get worse if you continue to deny anything happened. The first step, as we all know, to solving a problem, is establishing that there is a problem."

"Well, _yeah_." You had to admit, that was a sound philosophy.

"Come on, John."

  
"..." You weren't going to be left alone, were you. "Something happened. Something weird. It’s no big deal, though!”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then it won’t be a problem telling me.”

Oh, for God’s sake. She was giving you a look. The look. It was making you steadily more uncomfortable and you averted your gaze.

“I have to go, need to give this to Dave.” You held up the flat, square package.

“I won’t keep you.” She said, but as you moved past her, she said something else. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking I don’t know about your relationship with Dave, though.”

You stopped. “What?”

“Nothing. We can talk later, dear.” A sweet smile, but you were having none of it.

  
She _knew_.

Of course she knew! You couldn’t believe you deluded yourself into thinking anything different! You had hidden it well, when you were ‘involved’ (for want of a better word), but clearly it wasn’t well enough. Not well enough to pull the wool over Rose’s eyes, at least. But then again, how could you expect anything different? Rose was clever. She was more clever than most, and regardless of what you would try to tell yourself, she would always find out what you were hiding from her.  
Unless Dave told her.  
No. No, of course he wouldn’t. Dave was just as straight as you were! He wouldn’t want that getting out! It was just a perfectly natural way of getting rid of hormonal teenage urges. Everyone did it, one point in their lives. It wasn’t as crazy as it was made out to be, and more common than people thought it was!

You looked at her, and she urged you out the door, flapping her hands at you. “Go on.”

The sooner out there, the better. You turned your back to her (still seeing her damn smirk in your mind) and left the kitchen, back to Dave, obtaining a beer from the cooler in the middle of the room on your way. You would’ve preferred wine, being what you called a “sophisticated drinker”, but this would do.

  
“Took you long enough.” He said, taking a sip of his beer and turning his attention to the present under your arm.

“Rose was talking to me in the kitchen.”

“What about?” He asked, and you felt yourself feel nervous. It was a sensitive topic, you hadn’t even broached the subject since he had returned. There were just some things guys didn’t talk about, right? Right.

“Oh, nothing… Just catching up…Y’know how it is.”

“Yeah?” His eyebrow quirked, and he said nothing else, but you knew he didn’t quite believe you. You weren’t a very good liar. 

“Yeah...oh. I have your present here.” You were quick to change the subject, and you brought out the present from under your arm to hand to him. “Happy Birthday, Dave.”  
He took the present from you, and you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. He ripped the paper off of it as he would any other present, but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the sleeve of the vinyl that was underneath, pulling the paper off more slowly after a moment.

“It’s not turntables, but...it’s a start.” You’d have bought him turntables if you had money to spare, but you didn’t. However, you’d be damned if you’d give up on the idea altogether and not get him anything that could potentially get him back on his feet in respects to his music.

“Shit, John…” He was looking the record over, flipping it in his hands to look at the opposite side, before he looked up and your eyes met his through his shades. His mouth actually curved into a real, albeit small, smile. “Thanks, man.”

“Pssh. It’s no big deal! I just wanted to help you get back on your feet!”

He nodded silently. “Thanks.” He repeated. “Really.”

  
It seemed a bit easier, a little less tense when that exchange happened. You got another beer and you were quick to loosen up. Dave, surprisingly, obliged too, and had a beer with you, and you found yourself catching up-- actually talking.

“The problem with fish, Egbert, is that once ya’ seen one, ya’ seen ‘em all. I don’t get ’em.”

“No! Fish are neat, trust me! The ocean is like, completely full of cool fish, some we haven’t discovered yet!”

Dave always did smile easier when he was tipsy. “S’that why you wanted to become a...sea scientist? A seaentist?” He seemed almost as pleased with the terrible pun as you were. “So you could find all a’ the cool fish, an’ name ‘em, or somethin’?”

“That didn’t really...occur to me, but. Yeah! Imagine the ‘Egbert Fish’, swimming in the depths of the ocean!”

“Probably’d have big ass teeth and stupid hair too, jus’ like you.”

“Okay, Dave. One, fish have fins, not hair, and two, my hair is _not_ stupid!” You were vehemently protective over your hair, and you self consciously attempted to smooth it down as he stared you down in amusement.

“Okay, okay. It ain’t _that_ stupid. I admit, its got it’s charm.”

“That’s what I thought!” You responded with a grin. You were having a blast! You didn’t understand why you were so worried about seeing him at first, because you were getting along like a house on fire! “So, ‘nuff about jobs! How’re you? How’s it going?”

“Y’know, I’m surviving. Obviously the apartment got burned down--through no fault of my own-- which is complete bullshit. I mean, I get a payout from insurance, but not until after they ‘investigate’ it.” He added air quotes where appropriate. “Until then, I’m stuck here with that asshole. It’s like they’re tryna’ make my life a livin’ hell.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad!”

“Yeah, well. Y’all don’t have to live with him. You probably live on your own, lucky fucker.”

  
“I do now! My girlfriend left for New Jersey, not too long ago, so the apartment’s kind of empty right now.”

He visibly flinched, but you didn’t notice. “Girlfriend?” His tone of voice was a little strange, but you paid it no mind.

“Yeah, I got back together with Vriska, not long after you left.” You knew he didn’t like Vriska, so even through your slightly drunken haze you tried to say it as delicately as you were able-- you weren’t sure how he’d take the blunt _‘I got drunk and we met up and fucked in the backseat of her car after you abandoned me’_ , what really happened right after he left.

  
“Oh,” He said, a little distractedly, and he shifted his attention to the bottle. Suddenly the atmosphere was once again plunged into awkwardness and you wished you had left it at ‘yes, I do live alone’ to save the both of you with tension that you could slice through.  
All you were telling was the truth, though! He could get upset with you, but ultimately it was your own decision, he couldn’t blame you too much, for that.  
Right?

“What about you?” You pressed, trying to liven the conversation up again. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

“Me? Yeah, totally. ’m a total babe magnet. I’m practically drownin’ in pussy, for real.”  

You weren’t totally confident in the fact that he got a lot of female attention, if any at all-- Dave wasn’t exactly as outgoing as you, he didn’t have a lot of friends during your schooling years and he tried to avoid going to parties when he could. You, however, were a bit of a social butterfly. You were pretty popular with your classmates, girls especially, once you had gotten over the first wave of puberty and your voice had broken enough that your voice wouldn’t squeak unexpectedly in the middle of a sentence and make you lose your confidence for the rest of the conversation. You enjoyed hanging out with large groups of people, were a natural extrovert and thrived in social situations. Where your social lives were concerned, the two of you were polar opposites.

But somehow, miraculously,you got along. You met each other at the start of middle school, when you were both pre pubescent, awkward kids, and your friendship flourished when you noticed him playing on his gameboy at the back of the class when no one else was talking to either of you. He was quiet and sort of weird, but thoughtful and funny, and you liked that. And the rest, as they say, is history. You became best friends.

But that wasn’t obvious from the outset at the moment. He was paying more attention to the bottle in his hands than to you or the conversation. “That’s uh...great for you! But have you got a girlfriend?”  
You noticed Rose look over Jade’s shoulder at you, and then Jade turn to do the same thing, but you tried to ignore them. What were they even looking at? They needed to mind their own business.

“I’m in between girlfriends, right now.”

  
Uh... _huh_. Something told you he wasn’t having much luck with the ladies. “You know, I could always help you out! I’ve always had luck with talking to girls, haven’t I? I’m pretty sure Jake’s friend is single,” You craned your neck to spot Jake on the other side of the room. “Right, Jake?”

“Yes? What is it, old chum?”

“Your archaeology friend. She’s single, right? I’m trying to see if I can hook Dave up with her.”

“Um,” He looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights for a second. “I daresay that I don’t believe that’d be necessary! Aradia isn’t exactly Dave’s type.”

“No? They both like dead things, and they’ve both got a quirky sense of humour. That’s a good starting point, right?”

“ _Well_ …”

Dirk cut in. “Aradia wouldn’t be interested.”

“She’s on expeditions too often, anyway! That’s not exactly grounds for a relationship, I’m afraid. Sorry to burst your bubble, old chap.”

  
Oh, well. That was disappointing. “Still, I bet we could go on a bar crawl and maybe you could get lucky. That’s always a starting point.”

“I doubt the bars I go into are anythin’ you’d be interested in, Egbert.”

“Huh?”

“Nothin’.” He drained the bottle. “Great idea. Let’s do it.”

“Really?” This’d be the first time you’d have gone out on the town with a guy that wasn’t your cousin and/ or his boyfriend since...well, since forever! You were excited! At long last, your best friend was in your life, hanging out again!

“Yeah, why not? It’ll be fun, y’know. Pickin’ up chicks.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he didn’t look fully convinced about that.

“Great!” Either way, whether it worked or not this was going to a great way to bond with your former best friend again. And you were looking forward to that!

* * *

You had given Dave the address to your apartment so he could meet you there once he had finished with what he needed to do. He told you through pesterchum that he was going to be job hunting through the centre of the city throughout the late morning and afternoon, because, as he so eloquently put it, ‘if I’m gonna be stuck in this shithole I’d rather look or something to do than be sat around all day with my thumb up my ass’.  
You guessed that was fair.

So, you finished work at five, a fairly quiet day that consisted of helping Feferi clean out the tanks, showing a group of senior citizens to where the jellyfish were kept, and finally getting around to writing up the kids’ activity packs that were given to the elementary school children who went to the aquarium on field trips. All in all, it was a pretty slow day, and you kept finding yourself itching to get out of there to hang out with Dave.

It was dark when you got home, despite only being quarter past five by the time you unlocked the door to your apartment and shed your coat.  
You were looking forward to this a great deal. When was the last time you had hung out like this? As bros?  
Well. Thinking about it now, not for a long, long time. Not since before you started up your...thing.You didn’t want to think about it, but it was still there. You kept telling yourself, all guys do it! Even straight guys! It was just...bros helping out bros, and letting off some energy that they would otherwise be unable to through...other means.

  
The phone letting out a shrill ring made you jump, and knocked you out of deep through as you fumbled around in your pants pocket to grab your cell and answer it.

“Hello?”

“John, I’m glad this is the right number.” You recognised that voice, and you could most definitely identify the black lacquered smirk behind it.

“Rose?”

“Hello, John. Are you well?”

“Uh, hey Rose.” You cleared your throat. “How did you get my number?” Not that you weren’t happy to hear from her, of course! It was just...weird that she had it. That’s all.

“A lady never reveals her secrets, my dear. Now, we didn’t have an ideal opportunity to talk over Dave’s birthday celebration, nor over dinner on mine.” That’s right, isn’t it? Rose had her birthday the day after, so she had a considerably more formal dinner at one of the nice restaurants (you had to wear a suit and tie--something you hadn’t done since applying for the job at the aquarium), inviting you, Dave, Jade and Kanaya. The gang was all back together, as Jade put it brightly.

“Talk about _what_?”

“ _Please_ , John.” She said, seriously. “I wasn’t born yesterday, you know what I’m talking about.”

She was talking about Dave.

  
You sighed, and it came out forced and frustrated. “I need to get ready, Rose. I’m going to help Dave meet some girls.”

She scoffed down the phone. “Good luck, but I can assure you, you won’t find his type unless you look closer to home.” Closer to home? What was she talking about?

“Can I _go_ now?” You ignored the fact that you sounded distinctly like a whiny child.

“Of course,” She said. “But remember this; you can call it ‘confusion’ or ‘experimentation’ as many times as you like. In the end, though, the more you deny it, the more the closet door threatens to open and reveal to the world that which is seriously overdue. Goodbye, John.” She hung up when it was evident you were too surprised to speak.

How could she even _imply_ that you were in the closet? You were completely secure in your sexuality, so much so that the suggestion of being in the closet was ridiculous to you! Laughable, even! You had a good, hearty laugh (nervous and shaky) before you actually went to get ready in the remaining time you had left before Dave was due to arrive.

  
And he did, soon after. Just when you had slipped your shoes on, and tried in vain to sort out your uncontrollable hair, before giving up and leaving it as the mess it was. You sat down on your couch, turning on the TV but more twiddling your thumbs and thinking about the conversation you had with Rose prior than actually watching it.

At the ring of your doorbell you were up and at the door, peering out of the spyhole to see him standing there, hands in his pockets and shades on his face. You’d think he was being so effortlessly cool, if not for the fact that you knew he was a huge dork for the most part.

He rang the doorbell again and you opened it with a flourish, making him stop in mid motion to ring the doorbell a third time, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Hi!” You said brightly.

“Hey,” He responded. “You were waiting on the other side of the door, weren’t you?”

“Nope. I’m just getting my jacket and stuff-- you can come in, if you like.”  You moved aside to let him in, and shutting the door once he had gotten inside.

He whistled, looking around the place. “Shit, you’re doin’ well, Egbert. This place is way bigger than my shitty shoebox apartment was.”

“Come on, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Have you seen accommodation in New York City? Dude, this is luxury right here. You don’t know how lucky you are.”

“I have a pretty well-paid job, that could be why.”

“Or you share the rent with Vriska.” The way he said her name made your stomach turn a little sour. It sounded bitter and just...mean. He didn’t like her, you knew that much, but she was your girlfriend. He needed to have a little common courtesy.

“No,” You replied, slightly more curtly than you would’ve liked. "I pay for it myself. She stays sometimes but she had her own apartment.”

“Had?”

“Yeah, uh. She moved for New Jersey for a job. I told you, didn't I?” She still hadn’t called you all this week. You were worrying that there may have been a power cut, or the lines were down, or something. You weren’t sure.

  
“Oh. Right.” He looked at his phone, pulling a face before putting it back in the pocket of his skinny jeans.

“What was that?”

“Rose.”

“Oh.”

The silence was a little less awkward than it was before, but you still had the desire to get rid of it. “So!” You piped up, grabbing your coat from the rack and grabbing your keys from the key bowl. “I’m ready! Are you ready to go?”

“I’m ready to go.”

  
Within minutes you were walking in the cool Texas winter night down to the city centre, sighing out barely visible plumes of mist that disappeared as soon as they left your mouths.

“I miss this.” Dave said suddenly.  You glanced over at him, pulling your hands out of the warmth and comfort of your pockets.

“Miss what?”

“This. Us. You know, being bros. I missed _you_.”

The smile on your face was there before you realised, and you looked away, almost bashfully, before looking back to see Dave sporting a tiny smile of his own. “I missed you too, Dave.”

You didn’t talk for the rest of the journey to the bar, but for once it didn’t feel as necessary to. You were happy, side by side, close together on the narrow sidewalk and arms swinging a hair’s breadth away. You always wondered-- even when you were kids, before this whole mess happened-- how he would react if you reached out and grabbed his hand.  
You wondered how he’d react now.

You were over thinking things, probably due to yours and Rose’s conversation, and you shook the thought out of your head promptly.

 **  
**You arrived at the bar, and it was needless to say you had picked a good night to get Dave a date. Although it wasn’t ladies’ night, The Heart And Clubs seemed to be hosting a Hen Party, the chances were with many eligible bachelorettes. **  
**

They were loud, as many large groups of young excited women are, and Dave was already looking nervous. “I don’t get why guys and girls can’t just be picked up in coffee shops. Or bookstores. You’d meet a nice, respectable person in a bookstore or Starbucks.” He was saying this quietly in your ear, and you felt a weird tingle in your spine before you brushed it off and led him to the barside. “But no, ya’ took me to a _bar_ , where all people are interested in is gettin’ drunk and having a quickie around the back alley.”

“Shut up. This isn’t a sleazy club, there’s nothing like that in here. Your mind has been poisoned by your high-life in the Big City, Strider.” You teased, nudging him and ordering for the both of you. A pinot noir for you, and a single malt for Dave after prompting him for his request. Maybe it was just you, but you had the sneaking suspicion that he was going to get drunk far before the night was up if he was relying on those.

“New York, where every bar is a brothel according to John Egbert.” He smirked, but there was an uneasiness to it. He said he wanted to do this but from how stiffly he was sitting it looked like he’d book it out of there as soon as he was able to.

You didn’t get it. If he didn’t want to go, he didn’t have to agree to it.

  
“Are you sure you alright with doing this?” You asked him. His mouth twitched like he was going to say something, but he changed his mind when he caught your eye, shrugging. “It’s aight. It’s not like I’m gonna meet anyone holed up in my old room feelin’ sorry for myself, watching MLG parody videos and eating cold chinese takeout.” He’d probably rather be doing that, right now. And the more you looked at him  the less you blamed him, it wasn’t really a great idea to take him out on the basis of getting a couple of cellphone numbers and drunken kisses from cute women by the end of the night. You, maybe, but not him so much.    
Dave wasn’t the type.

“John _Egbert_?” One of the women from the hen party. You remembered her vaguely-- Cindy Somethingorother-- and she certainly remembered you. “I haven’t seen you for years!” The blonde smiled a barbie pink lipped smile and leaned with her back to the bar to the side of you. “Who’s your _friend_?”

Did she not remember Dave, or..? From the way she was smiling politely at him, rather than outright ignoring him like a lot of your former classmates did in high school, probably not. “Dave. Strider? From high school? My best friend?”

A wave of realisation and recognition washed over her. “Oh! Er...Dave, I didn’t recognise you! Jeez, you filled out nicely, huh?”

“Looks like it.” His reply was a little (incredibly) cold and curt, and she looked sort of shocked and a little guilty.

  
“...Me and some of my girlfriends are stayin’ here for a couple more drinks-- did you want to join?” She asked you. “You too, Dave. Do you wanna?” Her smile was as artificial and strained as all of the It-Girls’ smiles were back in high school. She probably felt as uncomfortable and guilty as she looked.

He looked at you and you nodded. Girls were practically inviting you to drink with them! Everything was falling into place, you totally take back what you thought about bars not being a good place to meet girls!

“Yeah, alright. I guess I could bless you with my company for an hour or so.” He said, and her smile relaxed.

  
In minutes the two of you were sat with the other girls and soon they took to him like a duck to water, mostly interested in his photography and ‘how nice his skin was compared to in high school’. It took a while for him to at least look comfortable but he was beginning to talk easier, and even blessed them with a few easy smiles as they asked him about the type of photography he did, and whether he had a business card that a few of them could have, ‘ _just in case they needed someone to be a photographer at a later date_ ’. You totally knew what that was girl code for. They so wanted his number, and you had to give yourself a mental pat on the back for arranging this.

But there was still that constant underlying and surprising feeling of dread and... _jealousy_ , almost, that sat heavy in the pit of your stomach and tasted sour in the back of your throat. You tried to quell it with your wine.

You were missing Vriska. That was it.

That _had_ to be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!


	10. You Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John Gets A Call, And Dave Has A Revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [LOUD INCOHERENT YELLING]
> 
> (Also have some throwaway characters and a reference to Drag Race)

You didn’t want to be here.  
You wanted to be at home, on your laptop, and happy, comfortable and warm.

But instead you were here, pretending to chat up girls you weren’t interested in, just to placate John.

  
“So you do photography as a career?” One of the girls, the redhead-- Lily, maybe?-- asked you. She looked genuinely interested, so you amused her and nodded.

“Yeah,” You said. “I run my own business. Do weddings, prom photos, stuff like that in New York. Used to, anyway. That kinda got cut short, but I got the essentials, so I’ll manage.”

“Oh, no!” The girl responded. “What happened?”

“It’s nothin’--”

“Hey, it’s _not_ nothing!” John found his way back into the conversation and you turned your attention to him. His eyes were trained on you, rather than on the girls, which was sort of weird. _Whatever_.

“What happened?” Another girl, the brunette, repeated, prompting you. She was Sam, if you recalled correctly.

“Uh, well. My apartment caught on fire. Some stupid kids lit a lamp on fire, or something. Now half of the floor I lived on’s a burned out shell. Most of my stuff’s gone, aside from what my cousin could salvage, and even that ain’t much.” Rose managed to sage a couple of your records, kept in the airing cupboard in your bedroom, a pair of your shoes you thought you had lost under your bed, and a slightly scratched disk of the Sims 3 in a plastic wallet, also under your bed. Needless to say, you since played the record, reworn the surprisingly comfortable pair of barely burned sneakers, and made all of your friends and family on the Sims.   
That was a fun three hours.

“Oh, no! How did you get out safe?” The third girl, Cindy, the blonde, touched your arm and you swore you saw John stiffen slightly.

“I was already down here-- visiting family. I was safe, don’t worry.” You gave the girl a smile, and she returned it.. She wasn’t your type, not by a long shot, but she wasn’t as bad as she used to be. As she had matured, she must’ve gotten nicer, because she seemed like a charming woman now, as did her friends. A long way away from the unpleasant and mean girls they used to be. You could get along with her well in the future, you guessed.

“That’s such a relief, but it’s such a shame you’re practically homeless, now!”

“Yeah, well.” You shrugged. “It’s the charity of family and my friends that’re keepin’ me afloat, y'know?”

“So are you staying with family or friends? Or do you need somewhere else to stay?” Sam asked. “I’m sure one of us could always give you a hand--”

“I’m staying with my brother, so I’m golden right now. Thanks though.” Were they flirting with you? Was it not so obvious that you weren’t so inclined towards the fairer sex down in the south as you seemed to be in the north? Then again, you weren’t excessively effeminate or running around waving rainbow flags about so as far as the Texans were concerned, you were straight.

“So, Dave?” Lily piped up with a smile. “Have you got a girlfriend?”

  
With that, Johns chair made a noise as it was pushed backwards, and he stood, clearing his throat. “I’m going to go outside to have a smoke, I’ll be back in a sec!”

“You don’t smoke.”

“Pft. Yeah I _do_. I do all the time, just not around _you_.”

John explicitly stated that he never wanted to smoke, because of his dad, and now suddenly this? Yeah,  sure Egbert. _Sure_.

_  
More like Egbullshitter._

  
“Alright. I keep the ladies company.” He looked at you for a couple of moments more after you said that, before turning and leaving out the front door. You bet he didn’t even have a cigarette, or a lighter.

“Do you?” They repeated.

“Do I what?”

“Have a girlfriend?”

“Oh,” Well if you did, you wouldn’t be sat in a bar trying to pick up chicks you weren’t romantically or sexually interested in, would you? “Nah.”

“...How about a _boyfriend_?”

  
 _Shit_.

  
“Uh--” Maybe it was obvious? Maybe women just knew this sort of shit. “No? No. No I don’t.”

They looked at each other with _that_ look (the look you were familiar with Rose giving you often), confirming your fears. “And y’all still let John drag you out to pick up girls you’re not interested in?”

“It’s...It’s easier like that.”

“Doesn’t he know?”

“Nah. Far as he’s concerned? I’m straight as a board. Then again, he’s short sighted both physically and theoretically. Don’t give a shit ‘bout anything beyond his eyeline.” You shrugged and shook the empty whiskey glass, watching the partially melted ice and diluted whiskey slosh about. “Not his fault, of course. He can’t help being inherently dickish.”

“Why do you put up with it?” Another one of them asked.

“I-” Why did you put up with it? Before you left, and even when you came back, his being being selfish and ignoring your ever-present needs as a friend, and previously as a lover took it’s toll on you. So why do you continue to put up with it?

  
The answer worried you, a little. You knew why you put up with it before you left, and it was what both destroyed you and kept you carrying on for the two years you were involved with him. You loved him, back then.  
  
But the feeling was the same now. You still had the angry, painful knotting, and the palpitations and the need to destroy his self worth and consume it and make him yours, yours, yours and make him depend on you and...and…  
And look after him, embrace him and wipe away the tears you may have caused him all those years ago. You wanted to kiss him, to look into his eyes and cup his face and promise him that everything was going to be okay, that you were here and you were staying and that you…

“I don’t know,” You confessed, chuckling weakly. “I really don’t know.”

  
They looked at each other again, and it wasn’t hard to see the pity in their eyes before  they changed the topic and started talking about them, their lives and careers. And your mood lightened, even if only a little.

Soon John returned, looking just as bothered, but masking it with a smile. “Sorry, guys!”

“Whatever, it’s chill. You needed to have your ‘smoke break’.” Whatever the smoke break actually was, anyway. You weren’t entirely sure, but you knew it wasn’t to smoke.

“I was trying to ring Vriska, too! She said she had something she needed to speak to me about, soon. So I should be getting a phone call later tonight! I’m sort of excited, I haven’t spoken to her properly in ages! I hope it’s good news.”

Nah. In your experience in dating girls, when a girl wanted to ‘tell you something later’ it was normally so she could gather up the strength to tell you something really crucially important. When you were dating Terezi back in Sophomore year when you were still trying to insist your heterosexuality to yourself and to Rose and to ignore the vastly developing crush on John, she rang you to ask to meet up because she needed to tell you something. You found out after that she was going blind in her left eye, only a year after losing all of her sight in her right eye. You seemed more upset than she was. The two of you broke up soon after, after it was evident you’d make better friends than partners. But, you knew that normally wasn’t good, or even ideal news, if a girl wanted to ‘speak to you about something later’.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, John!” One of the girls said, a reassuring smile on her face, as he sat back down.

“I guess so. Another drink?” He asked,and the girls looked at each other, before another (Cindy) spoke.

“We could get another drink, sure.” The blonde turned to you. “Dave? How about you?” She was speaking to you like she had been speaking to you for years. You weren't sure how you felt about that.

“Oh. Uh, yeah. I’ll get another one, provided my good friend John is paying.” You quirked an eyebrow at him and grinned, and he nodded quickly and looked a little distracted, like something was on his mind.

  
“Yeah...no problem, Dave.”

Not like you’d know what exactly was was going on in that little noggin of his, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere as he took people’s orders and left for the bar.

And then they were back on you again. “You like him?”

“W-what? _No_!”

“Don’t act like that, you so do!” Your newfound ‘girlfriends’ had it all sussed out, from the looks of it. Girls are fucking intuitive once they got their hands on the tiniest bit of information.

“Ladies, you got it all wrong. I...appreciate your intrusion and interest in my love life,” Or lack of one. “But I got it covered.”

It felt like being with Rose, you thought you had gotten away from this for at least a while, but apparently not. At least they left you alone after that, talking about something more wholesome than your relationship status.

John came back soon after, bringing the drinks to the table, and it gave you time to think as John talked to the girls about something or other.  
It was a little scary, being asked something like that. If you still liked someone that (unbeknownst to them) has caused you so much heartache. Who even used ‘like’ at this age? What were they? Twelve?  
You...you weren’t sure how you felt at this point, childish crush or otherwise. But the twisting in your stomach and the thrumming of your heart whenever you thought about him for too long, like you were in some fucking shoujo anime or something, was not a good sign, and it scared the shit out of you.

  
Regardless of that, you knew something was going down with your feelings for John, and they had to stop as soon as you were physically able to quell them.

This would normally be something you went to Rose about-- despite her constant incessant desire to delve into your brain without your consent and pull a fucking traumatic event out of a hat or off a wheel of fortune to discuss at length with you, she had pretty good advice, and she normally knew what to say to put everything into context for you. Irritating qualities aside, she knew her stuff. Sometimes you think she’d have been a fantastic psychiatrist or therapist, if not for her equally formidable talents as an authoress.

But alas, you didn’t have your cousin’s wise words to guide you, so you were on your own. And like hell were you going to go to Bro, or Dirk. Hell no, they’d say something ridiculous and unreasonable like “fuck him and then see how you feel after, maybe you’re just frustrated”. Who even jumps to that conclusion?

Although...it was an idea to ponder, maybe brain Dirk and Bro had a point. Maybe, crush or not, you were feeling a little sexually frustrated. You hadn’t been with anyone for a while, and certainly not since you had been back in Texas so it was starting to get a little desperate. As a Queen once said ' _you get trapped in a cage and you immediately look for the cutest one in the room_ '. Which, in this case, would unfortunately be John.

  
But you got that nothing would come of it, especially now that John had a long-term girlfriend (in the form of the Queen Bitch Vriska herself) who he presumably loved. They were so far past this casual, teenage hormone fuelled romp, there wasn’t much of a chance of ever returning to any semblance of it, again. This was the age to start finding someone and settling down, cranking out a couple of kids an getting a suburban house with a labrador and a picket fence. That was the American dream, and the American expectation. If you didn’t fit into that you were atypical, and there was something not quite right about you.  
You couldn’t ever hope that something like that would ever happen to you, and ordinarily you’d be fine with that, whatever. You had never really fit in properly, anyway.  
But this whole crush thing was bothering you, and making you rethink a lot of things.

You couldn’t let this bother you, especially now that John was asking you if you were alright. “Dave, are you okay?”

“What? Yeah, I’m chill. Why, what’s up with you?”

“You’ve been making really weird faces and staring into space for a couple of minutes, now. I was kind of worried about you!” He laughed, and it was a little bit nervous and reluctant.

“Yeah, just thinkin’. It’s alright, don’t worry ‘bout me, man.” Nothing to worry about, just a man having a crisis about whether he has a schoolgirl crush on his best friend after six years or not. Move along, nothing to see here.

“Riiiight. Okay.” He didn’t look like he believed you were ‘alright’, and neither did the girls.  
  
The group looked at the time on their phones, and had to excuse themselves.  
It was late, they said, they needed to get back to the bride’s house before everyone went to sleep, but they hoped the two of you had a good evening. They gave John and you kisses on the cheek respectively, giving you an extra ‘good luck’ and a smile before they left.  
You both watched them leave and were left alone again with John, a pregnant pause descending over the both of you.

  
Welp. That was another small group of people who knew about both your leaning towards males and the fact that you might still have a stupid thing for John after all this time. You found yourself torn between crippling paranoia that they might tell someone else, and somehow it’d get back to John, like rumours in high school, or forgetting about them altogether-- they’d probably forget it by the morning anyway, so there probably wasn’t much use dwelling on it.

But you couldn’t help it-- rather than forgetting it, the idea of you still liking John as more than a friend (you’re 25, not 12; quit it), it mingled and darkened the back of your mind.

“That wasn’t too bad, huh?” He said, after a moment, and he smiled at you. The bar seemed a little more vast now, without the reassurance of other people to talk to and to distract yourself from John.  
You didn’t like how bothered you were about this. “You got a number, right? When they found out about your photography.”

“Yeah,” You showed him the slip of paper. “I doubt I’ll call her, though.”

“What! Why not?” He exclaimed, though he looked reassured and (dare you say) a little relieved. “She clearly liked you!”

“Yeah, she’s nicer than in school. Cute, too. But like I said, you ain’t likely to find my type easily in a place like _this_.”

“Oh,” He looked at you thoughtfully, taking a sip of his wine and leaning back in his seat in the booth. “What _is_ your type?”

  
_Oh God._

  
If you had a list of things you didn’t want John to ask you when you were half way towards getting drunk and he had no knowledge of your sexual preferences, this would be pretty high up on that list, up there with “who do you currently have a stupid crush on?”. You guessed you could just be clique and be as vague as possible.

“Eh,” You wave your hand. “You don’ wanna hear that. We’re not teenaged girls at a slumber party.”

He rolled his eyes good naturedly. “It’s not that weird, relax.”

“It’s a lil’ weird.” You insisted.

“No it isn’t! I’ll tell you mine.”

“Vriska is your type, I don’t need to hear any more. She’s practically your soul mate.”

You might have sounded more bitter than you meant to, because he looked a little uneasy about continuing. “...I don’t know about that.” John diverted his attention to watching the red of the wine stain the inside of the glass.

That sounded like it had a lot more behind it than just ‘I don’t know’. A LOT more.

“...I like tall people.” He looked back at you properly. “Dark hair, kind of stupid and messy, that sort of thing. People who’ll fill up my silences.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” He said gently, with a smile that you would deny feeling your face grow warm with (though that might have been the alcohol). “We know what to look for now, don’t we?”

Maybe you were reading too much into his words, or his reaction to what you said, but you felt a little more at ease, a little more anticipated in what could happen. You knew it was just you, hoping too much for something that probably would never happen, but at this point, you didn’t give a shit.

  
You switched to regular beer after you finished the whiskey, partly because you didn’t want to get blind drunk (you were kind of a lightweight, no two ways about it) and partly you didn’t want to kill your taste buds with how fucking strong it turned out to be. John carried on with his wine, and even offered you some, which you respectfully declined. Wine wasn’t really your thing. Far too cultured and refined, and you were all rough edges and jagged lines. And amazingly, you began to enjoy yourself. You never thought it’d happen to you, feeling happy and willing to be around John again, but it did, ad you were thrilled!  
It was like old times, again.

Almost.

  
‘Old times’ was more, you did unspeakable things with each other, and then act like nothing was different while he went to date other girls and you wallowed and felt sorry for yourself. This was more...idealistic old times. The old times you wished you had. Being around John, and not hating yourself for it.  
It was nice.

But still, that thought kept circling. The possibility that you might not be over him, even after six fucking years of staying away and trying to move on. And that freaked you out a little, because that implied far more serious explanations that you didn’t exactly want to consider or even think about, because it’d make it difficult to be around John again, and you had only just gotten over it. You didn’t want to lose this newfound friendship you had built up after all this work and reconnection.

You were dangerously close to drunkenness, and you were still aware enough to realise that, so you finished your beer and pulled on John’s arm as he finished his glass.

“C’mon.”

“Where’re we going?”

“We’re gonna get blind drunk if we ain’t careful. We can walk it off.” He seemed complacent enough, and after putting on your respective outerwear he let you lead him out of the bar and into the cold night.

The cool air definitely shocked a little bit of soberness into you, and the two of you started up the sidewalk. It was quiet, just like before when you walked down, and the air was filled with possibilities, with things you could say but wouldn’t for fear of rejection and hurt and...change.

You let go of his arm once you realised you were still holding onto him, and you crossed your arms and hugged your jacket against yourself.

“Are you cold?” he asked you. It appeared that he had sobered up a little with the cool night (that and he wasn’t a lightweight like you) and he nudged you with his elbow.

“Me? Nah. Live in New York, winter’s fuckin’ bitter up there. I’m fine.” Truth be told, although you were cold, it was more to prevent yourself from reaching out and trying to grasp his cold, slender pianist hand in your own pale, scarred one.  
You weren’t totally sure why you felt like that, either, despite everything that had happened. The last time you had touched his bare hand you had felt a shock, a jolt that went right down your spine and shook you to your core. It freaked you out the last time, so you didn’t understand why you were willing to do it again.  
There was having a crush, and then there was something else entirely.  
There was stupidity, there was risk, there was potential failure.  
  
There was l-

  
“You can have my scarf, if you want.”

“Wha’? Nah man, I’m fi-” But no, he was taking it off anyway and winding it around your neck like a doting parent would a child, and smiling at you once he had done so. You felt your stomach twist and your heart squeeze. Stupid Egbert.

“Better?”

“...” You buried your nose in the soft wool and put your hands in your pockets. “Thanks.”

“Didn’t you bring any winter wear down with you?” John asked you, and you looked at him.

“I would’ve, if I knew I wasn’t gonna be goin’ back to my apartment on account of excessive fire damage.”

“Okay fine, good point. I can loan you something, if you want. If it gets any colder, I mean.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah! It’s cool! I have too many thick coats, anyway. Besides, where are you gonna get a thermal coat in East Texas without it costing you some organs on the black market?”

He was exaggerating of course, but fuck if you didn’t feel touched. It was the alcohol. That was one thing you were sure of, alcohol always made your emotions tenfold. It made you say and do things you had later regretted before, and no doubt it would make you say and do things you would later regret again.

“Thank you, man. Really.” You said. Cars passed with a soft crunching of the gravel down the road, illuminating your path every so often and letting the light catch on both of your faces. John was already looking at you, and it caught you by surprise before you trained your eyes back on the sidewalk.

  
“It’s fine...uh,” He stopped, and it took you a moment before you realised and stopped too. “I think this is where we leave each other.”

“Oh.” You were at the crossing where you crossed, and he would carry on walking. “Looks like it. It’s been fun, man.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has!” He smiled, and you felt compelled to return the expression. “It has been fun. I’ll see you soon, right?”  
  
Really? That was it? Somehow you didn’t think that should have been it. It seemed wrong to leave it like this. But, you couldn’t exactly force him to hang out with you. “Right. Yeah, totally. Soon as you like-- we can set a date and rock up the town again, y’know.”  
What were you even saying?

“Right. Well...goodnight?”

“‘Night.”

“...”

So, was this your cue to leave?  
Just as you were about to turn, he spoke again. “Unless, you know. You wanna come back to mine. If you still wanna hang out.” He had his hands in his pockets, and he shrugged, kicking a rock on the sidewalk and acting every inch the awkward kid he used to be. Though, that was probably more your thing, thinking about it.

“You sure? If you have shit to do, I don’t wan’ impose.” That was kind of stupid to say. He specifically asked you to come over, what was wrong with you?

“Yeah, I’m sure, that’s why I asked!” He might have noticed you were acting weird, but if he did he didn’t say anything.

“...Alright. Guess I could bless you with my company tonight. Not that I already haven’t. But too much is better than not enough, right? Y’all should feel lucky.”

He laughed, that little gigglesnort that you hadn’t heard for a long time, and didn’t realise how much you missed. “Whatever, dude.”

You felt the wool of the scarf between your fingers as you followed John before catching up and walking in time to him. You didn’t exchange chit-chat, but then again it didn’t feel like you needed to.

For now, you felt content as you were, even with the thoughts buzzing around your head, begging for just a little more.

* * *

And soon you were back in his apartment, sat on his couch, filling your eyes with a room that was so inexplicably John. He was getting the two of you another drink (“What do you want?” “Do you have beer, or?” “...I have wine?”) while you curled your hands into the blanket draped over the back of the couch and stretched your socked feet out onto the shaggy carpet in front of the coffee table. The room was lit in a soft, warm light, and the tv was put on a low volume, allowing background noise and colours to flit about idly on screen.  
When you breathed in, here, it tasted like home. You imagined yourself here and living with John, before you caught yourself and told yourself off. You were being an idiot.

“Comfy?” He asked, a smile broadening his face. He sat down and handed you a glass of dark wine--a pinot something or other, according to the bottle he brought in with him. “You look it.”

“I am. Sweet place you got here, looks like you have it made, man.” You took the glass and sniffed it. “I don’t get why you’re supposed to sniff wine. Like, where does the bullshit they spew come from? ‘Smells like cheddar wood and fucking satyr dick with a hint of cranberries’. Yeah okay, but how is anyone s’posed to get that it tastes like anythin’ other than petroleum and piss?”

“If you don’t want it, I can take it back.”

“I never said that.”

He laughed, and you found yourself smiling along and trying not to recoil from the taste of the wine.

You managed to get used to the taste somehow, and soon you were leaning against him, his arm around your back, laughing about something and feeling as if those past six years were just a bad dream.

And then his cellphone rang.  And you froze.

That’d be Vriska, then. It was like John didn’t want to answer it, for a moment, but then he moved, arm leaving your back and leaving your side cold when he shifted to get it out of his pocket. You straightened up and inched away from him slightly, distancing yourself so he could have at least a little bit of privacy, whilst being there just in case everything went wrong, as they inevitably would.

“Oh hey, Vriska!” He was smiling, almost as much as he was when he was talking to you. That gave you a small comfort, even when it probably wasn’t wholly appropriate. “Yeah?” He looked at you, and you raised your eyebrows. “Yeah, I’m alone...what’s up?” He sounded a bit worried now, and you were glad he said he was alone, despite that not being the case. You didn’t want to have to deal with knowing he was upset and not being able to do anything about it.  
God, you were beginning to feel in over your head. What was the matter with you?

He laughed, nervously. “What are you talking about?” The smile dropped after a moment, and he spent a long time in silence before he asked, quietly. “Why?”

_  
Oh, God. Poor fucker._

  
“...Yeah. No, it’s...it’s fine. Goodnight.” He hung up, and there was more, stretched silence.

“...Egbert?”

“She cheated on me. _Again_.” He said, quiet and dazed, and you wanted more than anything to pull him into a hug. Cheated on, twice. By the same girl. That’s some shit luck.

“Oh, man. I’m sorry.” Though, you weren’t surprised, she was always a cheating bitch throughout high school, first with John, then with the other poor suckers she preyed on. She was like a black widow, in the most unironic of senses. You were sure you thought that if your head, but the way he looked at you, all fire and fury, you felt like you were wrong.

“Don’t talk about her like that!”

Well. Might as well roll with it. It's not like you could take it back, or pretend you didn't say it. That's what your intoxicated mind was telling you, anyway. “I’m right, though, ain’t I? She’s a fuckin’ stone cold bitch, and you know it.”

“She isn’t!” He looked like he wanted to sock you in the jaw. Through your alcohol clouded brain, you’d like to see him try.

“Says the guy who’s just had his sorry ass dumped by the fuckin’ spider bitch herself for the second time, aft’ she cheated on him again.”

He pushed you, and it was surprisingly hard, enough to knock you a little off balance, and made you catch yourself on the arm of the chair. “Take that back!”

If it’s a fight he wanted, he was gonna get one. “Why’re you defending her!?” You pushed him back, and he caught onto the coffee table, a little more ungracefully than you.

“Because I love her!”

“Yeah, well she doesn’t love _you_!”

"Take that _back_!"

" _Make me_."

  
That’s when he punched you, and everything more or less went to shit. His fist swung for you, and it clipped your jaw, making you curse with the pain and swing back for him. Your first caught his cheek, and it flooded with red.   
  
His cheek flooded red, and he saw red. He practically jumped across the space between you and you let out a surprised and slightly undignified yelp. You were slowed down by your inebriation, so you couldn’t move in time, so you got tackled to the carpeted floor, reduced to rolling about swinging blind punches, occasionally catching each other but mostly gripping hair and clothes, before you got the upper hand, trapping him under you with a forearm at his neck and sitting on his waist to pin him down.  
Your lip was bleeding, so you licked it as your chest heaved, looking down at him. He looked back up at you, glasses skewed and hair even messier than before, lips parted and split in the scuffle.

And all at once, there was calm. It was like the shocking realisation of inertia, a moment of sudden, abrupt peace and tranquility, staring into his eyes with a mixture of disbelief and. And love. You still loved this boy- this...this stupid, beautiful, selfish boy, trapped in a grown man's body. And all at once it was over, the storm dropped replaced by something all the more heated and charged, and he took the opportunity to say something unexpected. Not abruptly, not like an order. He just said it. Like it was expected and intended for you to do so.

"Kiss me," He said.

 **  
**You did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr at porrimspantyhose!  
> Also, if anyone has anything relating to the fic that they've done, they can link it to me, or put it under the 'Inertia Johndave' tag on tumblr  
> My friend drew something for me so as I was reminded I thought I might say  
> Thank you!


	11. INTERMISSION: In Regards To The Two Manchildren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I]: Your name is Rose Lalonde, and you are somewhat concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An intermission! Just to keep people for a little longer before I release the chapter I know you're all waiting for. Truth be told, I've got a lot of deadlines in a short space of time (I had one due in today, as well as one of Wednesday, and an Art exam/Deadline the following week. I'm gonna die) so writing is taking a back seat role in my life right now.  
> Even so, I hope you enjoy a little bit of Rosemary! I really love it so I was determined to give the ship it's own chapter, regardless of it only being about 1,500 words.

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and honestly, your cousin Dave and his current situation is starting to concern you a little bit. While he has slowly but surely settled into your older cousin’s, his brother's, apartment, his mood has been...turbulent, as of late. At times, it's stormy, dark frustration, other times its a northern downpour, dismal moods and generally feeling sorry for himself. And, occasionally (and this is what you find most interesting) it is the glimmer and shine of happiness and hope. You couldn't always tell from the constant lowercase red text that showed up in blocks on your screen, but you could certainly tell from the slight inflections of his voice. You were, after all, a psychology major in college, despite going on to a career in literature, so you didn't have as much trouble as you thought you might deciphering his emotions. All emotions, of course, directed at one John Egbert.

You had spoken of the phone with him recently, John, since getting his number from Bro as part of your joint investigation-- what had started out as you bemoaning your dear cousin’s constant complaints and whining had become a full-scale attack on the two manchildren's tattered relationship.  
As much as you enjoyed tormenting Dave, you were worried about his wellbeing. Not to say that John was a bad person, but he was inconsiderate, self absorbed and childish.  
He was, very literally, a boy stuck in a grown man’s body. He didn’t have much consideration for what happened beyond his plain of vision and that was taking a toll on Dave, just like it had years ago.

  
“What are you thinking of?” Kanaya’s smooth voice cut through your thoughts and you perked up in your chair, looking up from where you were staring, at the half finished scarf and wool in your lap. “You seem troubled, my love.”

“Me?” You asked. “Not at all. I’m fine.” There seemed to be something you shared with Dave-- your ability to avoid your problems when talking to people who were concerned about you.

“Hmm,” She smiled at you, obviously not believing a word of what you were saying as she exited the kitchen. “Are you sure?” Contrary to Dave’s belief, your kitchen had finished being renovated weeks ago,with only the occasional ignored fleck of sawdust to sweep off of the counters to go before it was as perfect and pristine as you envisioned. Of course, Dave didn’t have to know that, and he wasn’t going to if you had anything to do with it.  
The plan was, you had agreed with Bro, to somehow keep Dave in Texas long enough to work out his differences with John. And as much as you hated to admit it, the fire was the perfect opportunity. It meant that he’d stay there for an indefinite amount of time(he hadn’t taken out insurance on his apartment, so there was no possible hope of him getting somewhere else in New York to live any time soon) and have no choice but to make amends.  
And, miraculously, it seemed to work. You had spoken to Dave mere days after his apartment became a burned out shell, and his mood seemed to have picked up excessively. He mentioned John and his conversation with him very briefly, so you could only assume that it was that conversation that had picked his mood up so significantly. He didn’t tell you what was said, which was a pity, but you didn’t press him any further than you normally would (which is to say, quite a lot).  
  
You could always ask Roxy to hack his pesterchum, but that would be rude, and entirely inappropriate. Besides, if you gave her the idea, she might go on and find her way into your account, and it was safe to say you didn’t want your sister to see the occasionally (frequently) risque conversations that you had with your fiancee.

  
Even so, the moment you felt reassured, there were troubled waters ahead on the horizon. You had confronted John in the kitchen under the guise of ‘getting a drink’, to do some investigation on the matter of their past relationship.  
You were under no illusion that there wasn’t anything going on with them; maybe no one else could tell, and maybe they hid it well, but you knew. From the way John would brush his leg against Dave’s when he thought no one was looking, or the way Dave would subconsciously tug up his collar to hide the blooming red bruise on his collar when John glanced over at him.  
You knew there was definitely something going on there. Something that went beyond the realms of being best friends.  Perhaps it wasn’t romantic (at least on John’s side, you knew Dave was reluctantly and insatiably in love with John) but it was definitely sexual, to some extent or another. So you queried about his relationship with Dave, and how he felt about his former best friend, and when you did it appeared that he had already been dwelling on the issue, because he looked like a deer caught in the headlights and he got out of there sharpish, leaving you with the hurried and somewhat suspicious response of ‘Having to give something to Dave’, which you supposed, given that it was your cousin’s birthday, was an acceptable excuse.  
You did promise to talk to him later about it, after he had left the room, given the present to Dave, unwound and almost looked like best friends again, and then consequently upset Dave and arranged to ‘pick up chicks’ (and this all happened in one night, you honestly could not keep up).

  
And you did talk to him, earlier this evening, on the night he was supposedly taking Dave out. You still had John’s number from years ago, and must have retained it for the eventuality that something like this would happen. The biggest surprise for you was not that you still had it, but that his number was still the same after all these years.

Talking in cryptic messages and accusing John of not being as straight as he was convinced he was was probably in hindsight not the best thing you could have done, you knew that. But it was probably the only way that he would comprehend, or at least understand that sleeping with his best male friend and then insisting aggressive heterosexuality wasn’t ‘normal’. You can’t exactly sleep with a male on a regular basis and then swear blindly to only be into females, even if you were only in it for the sexual favours.  
That would at the very least make John heteroflexible, if not bisexual. Then again, it’s difficult to claim heteroflexibility if the arrangement the two men had had been going on for as long as it had.

  
“Darling,” Kanaya interjected your thoughts again, sitting next to you on the couch. “You are thinking too hard. Tell me, what is the matter?” She traced her fingers on the side of your face, and you sighed and leaned your head on her shoulder, to which she began to pet your hair.

“I’ve been concerned about Dave. His moods have been turbulent as of late, and I fear that my interjecting his making it worse.”

“Is it _possible_?” Kanaya asked, feigning shock. “Could you possibly be feeling a considerable amount guilt and regret for meddling in your cousin’s affairs?”

You shushed her with a grin. She wasn’t normally one to use sarcasm, but you enjoyed it immensely when she did. “Me? No, _never_. Don’t be _ridiculous_. It’s more the case of me, on this stand alone, individual occasion, potentially taking it too far. I’m worried that what I’m doing will make matters worse.”

She swept her long legs up and tucked them underneath herself before continuing. “I believe that whatever is happening is not entirely your doing. You may be making a bad matter slightly worse, but if said matter was problematic in the first place you cannot be held entirely accountable.”

“Maybe,” You hummed, turning your head up to meet hers with a kiss. You broke it after a moment, smiling and propping your chin on her shoulder. “In any case, whether I’m directly involved or not there’s no doubt I’ll find out if something develops. I’m quite eager to see what happens.”

She tucked a lock of your pale hair behind your ear, humming thoughtfully, before speaking again. “Whatever happens, if something unfortunate happens I am sure that either yourself, Dirk or Broderick can intervene.”

  
That was probably the case. Where you specialised in dragging out the realisation from the two young men using long, convoluted trickery, Bro and Dirk were were well versed in forcibly making Dave do things, like get along with the boy he had sex with in high school, much to your cousin’s chagrin. “You’re right, as always.”

She smiled. “Allow Dave to fight his own battles. Whatever is happening, unless he finds himself in a lot of trouble he can help himself eventually, assuming he stops complaining and slash or sulking long enough to do so.” She went back to fiddling with your hair. You probably required a trim, but it could wait until you were less busy with wedding preparations and your writing before you felt you needed to get it cut.

You didn’t respond to her, instead leaning back against her and letting her card her fingers through your hair and change the subject to talk idly about whether the napkins should be eggshell or cream at the wedding. The back of your mind became the habitat for your worries of Dave and John (whose reactions to everything were just as interesting to you as Dave’s was), and while you let your desire to intervene lay dormant, you had the sinking feeling that something was going to go very wrong, very soon.  
You hoped, for once, that your normally attuned foresight was a little off this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!


	12. The Desire To Get Ever Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more light is shed on John's phone call, and Dave (tries to) make a decision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two POV's in this chapter! You;ll be able to tell who's is who's, but just in case they're separated by reasonably sized gaps  
> There's also a pesterlog in this chapter. Fucking wonderful  
> I don't know why I do this to myself  
> Also, I have a con coming up on the 22nd-24th, so updates might be late!! <3

It was weird, the desire to get ever closer to Dave, as he leaned on you when you sat on the couch, drinking wine that he didn’t even like and laughing about everything and nothing, stupid inane bullshit that you encountered in your day to day life that for some reason, you could talk to him about. It was nice. You missed just...talking to him, being near him, touching him…

Maybe you were drinking too much. 

You kept thinking about what Rose had said to you earlier that evening, that...that you might be in denial. It weighed on your mind, and it bothered you.  
Just like how, for some reason, seeing Dave with those girls bothered you. You chalked it up to them seemingly getting along better with him than you were, even though they had only just seen him after not even being acquaintances in high school, whereas you had been seeing him on and off for weeks, after being best friends with him back in school. You guessed it upset you that he was friendlier with them than he was you. You didn’t want to be pushed aside, that was all! That’s why you needed to have some space! Right? _Right_.

Your arm dropped to his back and you felt him stiffen, before relaxing against you. “Y’know,” He began, turning his head on your shoulder to look up at you above his shades. “Once you get over the fact that it tastes kinda like turpentine and everythin’ that’s unholy in the world, it ain’t so bad. I could get used to this, push comes to shove.”  
You ignored the fact that he potentially knew what turpentine tasted like and you laughed, rolling your empty wineglass in your hand.

“It’s not _that_ bad, you know; try having a round of absinthe with Jade one of these days, then you’ll be drinking wine like it’s nothing!” Jade was notably one of the two people that you knew (the other was Jake) that could drink anyone else under the table without so much as breaking a sweat. It was kind of scary actually, seeing someone who didn’t really drink as a habit downing alcohol like it was their damn job, or something.

“If I can’t take this glorified grape juice, I sure as hell ain’t gonna drink that shit, Jesus Christ.” Nevertheless, he drank more of his wine, spilling a drop on his shirt. You saw it bloom on the collar, but neglected to bring it up. He should be more careful.

Besides, if you brought it up, he might be tempted to take his shirt off, and the more you thought about it the more it sounded like it was going to end up as a clique gay porn. You guessed. You tore your attention away from it and towards the TV that you had turned on to fill the apartment with background noise, and make it feel more homely than it felt to you currently. “I know you’re an upper-middle straight cis white boy, but how ‘bout humouring the lower class proletarian trash and gettin’ something a little sweeter in?”

“Dave,” You said, seriously.

“Yeah, bourgeoisie scum?”

“I’m not white.”

 “...Yeah okay, fair. Three out of four ain’t bad, though.”

  
You guessed so. You came from a good neighbourhood and a good family, and…  
Yeah, you were straight. You had a girlfriend. Knowing that, you couldn’t be gay, right?  
Those encounters you had with Dave in the past meant nothing, it was just guys being dudes! It wasn’t gay!

“It’s the effort that counts, Dave. It’s fine, I won’t hold it against you.” You used your other hand (the one that wasn’t resting at the small of his back to mock-sympathetically pat his arm. “It’s okay, don’t cry.”

He just swatted lightly at your hand and breathed out a short laugh, the corner of his mouth rising in a smirk as he looked away for a moment, almost bashful, and then turned back, seemingly unaffected. “For real, though. Get some better shit in. I’m telling you this as a friend and a professional.”

“Professional _asshole_.”

“ _Mister_ professional asshole to you, dickbag. Just for that, you’re gettin’ a bad review on Yelp.”

“I’m not on Yelp...you haven’t put me on Yelp, have you?”

“Nah, never thought of it back in school-- though I could now, y’never know. Could have a rip roaringly successful business on your hands.”

“Like what?”

“You’ve always been good with girls,right? Use that to your advantage. I can see it now:” He put his glass down, and splayed his hands out, miming a star studded sign. “‘ _Johnny’s Whore House: Where the customer comes first._ ’”

“Dude, come on.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I’m not doing that, jeez!”

“Feel free to use the idea.”

“Yeah, no. I don’t think I will.”

“Your loss, man. You could’a done well.”

“Even with you giving negative feedback?” You asked with a grin.

“Hey, man. Negative publicity is still publicity. If anythin’, I’ll be doing you a favour.”

“Good to know.”

   
“‘Sides, I could help out to sweeten the deal. Anyone’ll see my sweet candy ass and be on it like a dead bug on a dirty car bonnet. Me bein’ the bonnet. Because I mean, look at me.” He did a sweeping gesture of his own body. “I’m textbook Adonis. The gods put me down on earth with the sole intention of me being the mortal realm’s eye candy, and you have so fortunately been bestowed the gift of being able to gaze near constantly upon my loveliness not only once,” He held up one finger. “But twice so far in a lifetime.” There went the second finger. “I’d be _thanking_ me if I were you, Egbert.”

 God, you forgot how much he talked when he was drunk.  
...No, not drunk. Comfortable. Happy.  
He was comfortable around you, and you could feel the happiness swell in your heart and in your throat. It was like having your best friend back again.  
You _did_ have your best friend back, again.

  
You laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. I didn’t think you’re the type to flourish in the sex industry, though. You’re too wiry and bitter.”

“I ain’t wiry, c’mon. Maybe ten years ago, but. Come on.” He looked half joking, half like he actually took offense to that, and you kind of felt a little bad.

“Yeah, okay. I hear twinks are popular these days, anyway.”

“Hey, fuck _you_.”

Amidst your laughter, and his protests, you felt on top of the world, like nothing could go wrong at this point.

   
And then your phone rang.

   
Just like that, your heart dropped into your stomach, and for some inexplicable reason, you wanted to be sick. You knew it wasn’t going to be good-- whatever Dave or the girls at the bar might have thought, you weren’t an idiot, and you knew when something bad was going to inevitably happen. Dave’s miniscule grin dropped like a ton of bricks and he looked at you, knowing exactly who it was and silently urging you to make the decision of either picking up your cellphone, or ignoring it and carrying on as you were, happier in the space of about an hour sitting in your apartment with your former best friend than you realised you had been in about six years.  
You supposed you had to get this over with. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad! Perhaps she just needed something sent up from your apartment, or needed to borrow some money! Who knows!

   
Your hand left Dave’s back to fish in your pocket and pick up the phone in your pocket, answering the call that was so obviously Vriska, even without looking. “Oh, hey, Vriska!”

_“Hey, John...I’m going to spare the pleasantries, we both know I’m not calling for idle chit chat.”_ She dragged out the ‘hey’, as she always did, but it felt uncomfortable and forced. This was as hard on her as you could tell it was about to be on you.

You remained silent, urging her to continue. You were confused, not, but you kept smiling through, Just so Dave wouldn’t have cause to worry, you supposed.

_“I need to talk to you about something that happened. It’s pretty urgent._ ”

“...Yeah?” Your smile faltered ever so slightly.

_“Is anyone with you right now? It’s kiiiiiiiind of private."_

Looking at Dave then, you considered what might happen if you either said yes, he was here, or no he wasn’t, and send him out of the room so you could speak in private. On the one hand, if you said he was there, she wouldn’t tell you until you sent him out. Which led you to your next problem. If you sent him out, if something bad resulted in your conversation you’d have no one there for you, and you weren’t entirely sure what would become of you if you had no one to stop your self destructive process.

Just say he isn’t there. It’s fine. He won’t mind.

“Yeah, I’m alone...what’s up?” The silence on the other end was almost tangible, and the tension dense enough to cut with a knife. If you weren’t nervous then, you were riddled with nerves now. You didn’t understand what the problem was, but you knew whatever it was you weren’t going to like it very much.

_  
“I...met someone else. It’s been awhile since I’ve been seeing him, so this isn’t just a fuck up, or whatever. This is long term.”_ She said after what felt like forever. You almost couldn’t believe it. Your stomach sank in the most distraught of ways and it was almost like you had transported back to all those years ago, when she betrayed your trust the first time.

You laughed, nervously. “What are you talking about?” Surely she was joking, or she had phrased it wrong. Surely something had slipped, and she had made a mistake. Surely.

_“I fucking cheated on you, John!_ ” She snapped, and it didn’t sound like much of a cakewalk to her, either. But at that moment, you honestly didn’t give much of a shit. She had cheated on you. Again. It really did feel like you were back, sixteen years old, with your heart broken for the first time by the same girl (or, well, woman now). _“That’s what I’m trying to say! I’m...I need to break up with you. I can’t do this to you, that’s why I told you! At least give me credit for that!”_

“Why?” You heard yourself say, and it came out weak, and broken, and pathetic. You felt pathetic, especially if the fact that she had so easily and quickly found someone else had anything to do with it. You weren’t anything meaningful to her. She probably didn’t even love you!  
And while you had been somewhat...distracted in your feelings for a while (at least that’s what Rose liked to think), you still loved her, and it hurt, like someone punching you in the fucking gut.

_“I’m sorry, John._ ” Her voice lacked the usual vigor it would normally possess, and now it was just weak, and pathetic. And sad. Just like yours, you supposed. _“I can’t lead you along like this again. I’m not a brat anymore, I need to face up to my responsibilities.”_

The hand holding the phone to your ear was shaking, and you hoped to God you wouldn’t drop and crack it, because that was the last thing you wanted to do in a situation like this.  Vriska continued, hesitantly.

_“I'll try to collect my stuff, soon, but seeing as I know you won’t want me coming back down, we'll have to arrange a time when you won't be there to see me. Tell me when would be cool for you later on...I’m sorry, again.”_

“...Yeah, no. It’s...It’s fine. Goodnight.” That was an automatic reaction, but it took you longer than you wanted it to to hang up, simply because the shock of it all was working it’s way through your system and forcing your body into a standstill of disbelief.

  
She had _cheated_ on you.

The woman you loved, and whom you thought had loved you back, had cheated on you within a month of moving to her new job.

   
“...Egbert?” You had almost forgotten Dave was there, in the midst of it all. You turned to stare at him, almost vacantly. You couldn’t quite place this feeling of deja vu.

“She cheated on me.” You said, quietly and almost robotically. “ _Again_.” Your heart felt permanently in your throat, and you almost wanted to cry. You felt raw, and you wouldn’t oppose a fucking hard drink and to scream and punch something, right now. Anything to let the hurt and feeling of betrayal out of your system.

“Oh...man, I’m sorry.” He said, quietly. You could see he was debating reaching out to give you a hug, from the way his hands were twitching, and you wanted more than anything to let him hug you and not let go. Just...anything. Anything to make the pain go away. “Though,” He added, as an afterthought. “Ain’t really surprised, she’s always been a cheating bitch, first with you, then with the other poor suckers she preyed on. Then you again, then probably that other asshole she’s suckin’ up to. She’s like a black widow spider.”

   
Okay, what?  
However you were feeling, that did NOT excuse the way he was talking about the woman you still loved, despite the stinging mark of betrayal she left upon you.  
It was not on. Not at all.

  
“Don’t talk about her like that!” You didn’t know why you were defending her, she broke your fucking heart. But yet, you still loved her. And that angered you just as much as what Dave was saying. Because Dave was right.

He just laughed bitterly and carried on insulting her, as if you hadn’t told him to stop. And you might as well have not bothered, you knew he hated her for whatever reason even before she cheated on you the first time and he was just fighting to have his say and throw shade. “I’m right, though, ain’t I? She’s a fuckin’ stone cold bitch, and you know it.”

“She isn’t!” What were you even doing? You knew, even in your drunken stupor, that he was right and you were just clinging onto your last hopes. But at the same time, you wanted to punch him in his fucking face.

“Says the guy who’s just had his sorry ass dumped by the fuckin’ spider bitch herself for the second time, aft’ she cheated on him again.”

Okay, no. No, that wasn’t on. That was not fucking on. You pushed him, a lot harder than you had meant to, and he very nearly fell off the couch. The fact that he almost hurt himself comforted you a little in a twisted, sadistic way. “Take that back!”  
Way to sound like a fucking kid.

“Why’re you _defending_ her!?” He pushed you back, and you very nearly almost fell, catching onto the coffee table and almost sending the empty glasses toppling over. You struggled to sit back up, eyes burning.

“Because,” you said, venom dripping from your words. “I love her!” But was worth it anymore? If she didn’t love you, what was the point in loving her in the first place?

“Yeah? Well, she doesn’t love you.” He said it with a smirk, he knew he was hitting you where it hurt, and you were getting angrier by the moment. You really, really wanted to hit him.

“Take that back!” You repeated with more force.

_“Make me.”_

  
You’re sure that the moment those words left his mouth was the moment everything went to shit, and almost without thinking you went for him, swinging for him. You were never that good a fighter (more a lover, you always used to say) but you caught his jaw and at the very least hurt him, from how he was acting. Your fist hurt like a bitch, and you certainly didn’t mean to do that. But somehow, it made you feel a bit better.  
At least, right up until he punched you back, and it made a direct contact with your cheek.

You’re not sure why, but that set you off. You practically leapt across the couch and went for him blindly, trying to get a good enough vantage point that you could swing another fist, in the way only a guy with little to no fighting experience would.

You both tumbled to the floor, ending up getting accidental carpet burns on your hands and arms, and almost certainly getting bruises from the fall, as well as split lips and blooming purple bruises where fists managed to get into contact with skin.

Through some event or another, you ended up smacking the back of your head on the floor, and Dave put his forearm up to your neck and sat on you to stop you moving. You squinted up at him, dazed and confused, and watched him as he licked a drop of blood forming at the cut on his lip, almost mesmerised.

 It was the alcohol. It had to be.

Why else would he be so obsessively watching the way Dave’s adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, or how his shades hung on by only one ear, exposing one of his eyes and half of the other, bright cherry red eyes that were wide and intense and just... _Dave_.

   
You were trying to kid yourself that you said something different. Trying to spin it in a way that meant you told him to ‘kiss your ass’, or something. But no, you knew you couldn’t play it off as just that.  
Maybe you couldn’t ever be normal best friends.

You just prayed that you wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

“Kiss me.” You said, breaking the thick silence and feeling his weight shift a little on you. You were half convinced he was going to get the hell out of dodge and make a run for it, and you couldn’t exactly blame him.  
Except.

 He did. He pulled his shades of from over his head and placed them gingerly on the coffee table, hesitate for a second, and then leant down to kiss you.

   
It was weird, at first. Unfamiliar and yet the most comfortable thing you ever remembered. You almost hated the way your body was still so accustomed to Dave, a man, kissing you, and quickly you reciprocated, holding back on the tongue as you remembered doing so long ago (he always used to complain that you were too messy and hasty with shoving your tongue down his throat).  
It sort of felt like you were betraying Vriska, even though Vriska had already betrayed you since goodness knows how long ago.

You hated it and you wanted to stop.

But even you knew, in your drunken haze, that was a lie.

And all at once, it was over, Dave shot back up with a sharp intake of breath, a flushed face and wide eyes. “No.”

   
“I-” To be fair, you couldn’t exactly think up a coherent sentence, much less one that expressed how exactly you felt about this development. However, you did try. “What?”

“I can’t fuckin’...No. Not again.” He stumbled back up, leaving you on the floor and hastily grabbing his shades and shoes stuck under the coffee table. You sat up with a start and adjusted your glasses, ignoring the sensation in the pit of your stomach and the heat in your cheeks.

“Dave-”

“I’ll...” He pulled his jacket off of the coat rack with haste. “See you later.”

You were still sat on the floor, but got up quickly when he opened the door. No, you weren’t done. You weren’t done. “Dave!”

But he left by the time you got to your feet.

Oh God, what did you _do?_

All of that work trying to repair your tattered friendship, just to mess it up again by saying something that lead to his running out of your apartment.

_  
Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck._

   
What were you going to do!? You had put aside your grief of being cheated on and dumped in favour of worrying about Dave, and what was going to happen to him.

This was all your fault.

What the hell were you going to do?

  
  
You weren’t sure why you ran out with so little warning, but at the same time you didn’t know why you kissed him in the first place. You were in the cold, running with your shoes and shades in your hands and squinting your eyes to prevent any unnecessary tears from spilling out.  God, you felt like a fucking _child_ , what the hell?  
Like a stupid lovesick schoolgirl from some shit shoujo anime who realised that her senpai would never notice her, no matter how much she loved him, and she now has to go on a journey of self discovery with her buddies, all the while fighting off the forces of evil with the help of her plucky animal sidekick and the mysterious masked man who haunts her daydreams.  
That analogy got away from you fast, surprising since 90% of what you could think about was how spectacularly you had fucked this up.

You loved him. You…

You still loved him.

The thought made acid rise in your throat and you had to stop-- by that time you were…  
Where were you?

At this point, you didn’t even know. It was a quiet residential area, at least, so you didn’t have as much of a fear as getting stabbed as you might in the city centre.

Hold on.

You fumbled in your pocket and found to your relief that you had your phone (you didn’t want to have to go back there and get it, even though some part of your mind was encouraging you to return and finish what you had started, whatever that might have meant), and discovered that you had a message. 

TT: Is your thing going well?  
TT: Your ‘find Dave a quick screw despite not knowing anything about his preferences’ thing.  
TT: Is it going well?  
TT: I’m presuming by your absence that it is, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was pleasantly surprised.  
TG: rose  
TG: i cant do this i cant fucking do this anymore i need to leave  
TT: Dave? What’s the matter?  
TG: i fucking  
TG:cant do this  
TT: I’m going to call you.  


Your hand was shaking as you held the phone, you realised, and soon it started buzzing and chiming in the empty street. You sat on the edge of the sidewalk and answered.  
  
_“Dave?”_

“I can’t do this. I fucked up, Rose. I hurt him when he was feelin’ vulnerable and then I messed everything up.”

_“What happened?”_

So you told her everything, at this point feeling too exhausted and sorry for yourself to fabricate a lie and act like everything was fine, because it _wasn’t_. It wasn’t fucking fine, not at all.

_“I was right, then.”_

“What? You asked, weakly. “Is that all you care about? Validation for your fucking theories?”

_“No, that’s not what I mean. It’s not you, it’s...nothing. There are more important things to worry about, like getting you home and safe.”_

“Okay, no. You can’t just say somethin’ like that and then just dismiss it like there’s no fucking problems whatsoever.”

_“You don’t need to take your problems out on me, David.”_ She said ‘David’. She was getting out the big guns now, and all of a sudden you kind of wished you had never snapped at her in the first place. _“I was going to say, my theories regarding John were correct. I suspect it’s a case of ‘the lady doth protest too much’.”_

“...”

_“Allow me to explain; his aggressive heterosexuality is a psychological cover that he’s had on for so long, that he too believes it. Of course, there’s curiosity, but curiosity doesn’t involve a ‘secret’ friends with benefits arrangement spanning just over two years. Especially not without some emotions developing on both sides of said relationship.”_

Of course she fucking knew, why were you even surprised at this point?  
And what she said about John? That was ridiculous. John didn’t have any feelings for you, if he did he’d have some more fucking consideration.   
That arrangement back then was for his own selfish gain. He didn’t have feelings for you then, and he sure as hell didn’t have any emotional ties to you now.

  
_“I knew about you long before I knew about John. John, I realised the extent of his feelings just after you left. You broke him, he was devastated. Of course, I have an inkling as to why you did what you did, but still. And even now, the way he acts around you. You might not be able to tell, but I can.”_

“Really? Well, why didn’t you just say so? Praise the almighty seer. I’m not worthy, I’m practically grovelling at your feet as we speak.” Like you were going to believe _that_ \-- how convenient that had just appeared, right when you were freaking out! Great idea, Rose. Get an emotionally unstable guy’s hopes up to destroy them again, almost certainly as part of some bullshit mind game she had just made up. “Funny how you just mentioned that. Why didn’t you say anything when I was having a fuckin’ crisis, why wait ‘till now? What’s with the damn timing!?”

It took a moment before she spoke again. _“Are you drunk, Dave?”_

“Why the fuck does it matter!? I had my heart meta-fucking-phorically ripped from my chest back then, and you just sat back and watched!” God, you wanted to fucking cry. “Didn’t you even care?”

_“...Oh, Dave.”_ She sounded like she felt terrible about it, and now you felt even worse. _“I’m so sorry…”_

  
“What do I do?”

_“I’d suggest moving on.”_

“I can’t do that,” You said. You were shaking at this point, and you wanted to blame it on the fact that it was cold. “I can’t move on from this.” As much as you wanted to, if you weren’t going to fucking move on after six years, you didn’t think you ever would. "Look what happened after I tried the first time-- Couldn't hold a proper relationship after that. He ruined me. I can't move on from him."

_“I know. But it's moreso because you’re stubborn.”_ She didn’t mean it harshly, you knew that. But it still wasn’t nice to hear, the fact that your emotions were dependent on how  John treated you. _“I think, what you need to do is work off your stress somehow.”_

“‘M not stressed.”

_“It’s just a suggestion. You need to talk through this mess with John, because you can’t leave it like this. An old wound is still a wound, and can still be opened, as demonstrated tonight. You need to patch it up.”_

“But whenever I see him, I either want to kiss him, or kill him.”

_“You’ll have to decide which one would be a better idea sooner or later.”_ Rose responded sagely. _“Of course,”_ She added, as an afterthought. _“I wouldn’t recommend killing him, or harbouring any ill will, because you’ll just set yourself on a path to self destruction. Nevertheless, there’s a path you need to take, and I suggest you choose which one quickly.”_

And in your drunken mind, sobered very little by the chill of the night air, you were going to decide now-- go back to his place and decide once and for all what you were going to do.

 

  
A slam of a hand on the door shook you suddenly from your worry, and turned it to surprise and irritation. What the hell, who the fuck was doing that at this time!?  
You weren’t sure, but they did this at the WRONG TIME. Your second thought, however, led to to consider that it might be Dave.

God, you hoped he was alright, and that he just needed some air and time to think. You could let him in and you could forget this whole thing and just...be friends.  
Fuck, all you wanted to do was have everything be normal.  
Then again, what even was normal, to the two of you? You hadn’t been normal for a long fucking time, and if you were to go back to that time you don’t know if you’d be able to cope. You stood from the couch and walked to the door to spy through the peephole and see whether it was Dave, or some kind of psycho who bangs on doors in the middle of the night.

It was Dave.

You breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door up.

“Dave, I’m-”

“Shut up.” He said shortly, and he practically stalked into your apartment. You closed the door behind him, a little surprised that he said that of all things to you, and then just invited himself in. Not that you minded, but.

“I don’t understand-” He was directly in front of you when you turned around, and he took hold of your face to your surprise, leaving barely enough room between the both of you for air to pass through.

“Shut. The fuck up.” He said, his voice a little husky from the alcohol and possibly the shouting, and he leaned up slightly to kiss you unapologetically hard.

And, for some reason, rather than questioning it? Rather than pushing him back and demanding you talk?  
You kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!


	13. Do It Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK  
> I 'M B ACK  
> HELLO MY DEARS, I'VE MISSED YOU, AND I'VE MISSED WRITING THIS FIC!!!!!!  
> This one features text messages rather than coding, because honestly I could not deal with that  
> So, you've got texts instead.  
> I'm so sorry it's been so long! I do hope you enjoy this chapter!!
> 
> Check out the Fall Out Boy reference in there, too. Imaginary points to whoever finds it.

What were you doing?

  
What...were you _doing?_

  
Somehow ‘deciding’ had lead to this, and even through your drunken mind you knew what you were doing was fucking stupid, you couldn’t let yourself do this again and yet you were, and you didn’t feel inclined to stop for fear of never getting the opportunity again. You were a stranded man in a desert, and John Egbert was your oasis. You were kissing him as if it was the only thing that would keep you alive and healthy.

This could have gone either one of two ways, you had convinced yourself- either he’d get angry and forcibly remove you from his apartment, or he’d apologise and push you away. Either way, you were sure you’d be rejected and feel like a huge fucking idiot.  
And yet, he was kissing you back.  
You held his face with your hands, stilled by the alcohol and your determination and blindly walked the two of you back into the apartment, tasting the iron of the blood on your respective lips as you parted your lips to flick your tongue at his. He parted from you then, keeping his forehead to yours as he gasped for breath and placed his hands on your shoulders, as if he were deciding whether or not he should gently push you away.

  
And then you just...stood there. Stood in the middle of his dimly lit apartment, only the sound of your quiet breath, the muttering on the television  and the pattering on the window pane as it started to rain to be heard. Your hands were still on his face and, in a silent moment of tenderness, you slipped your hands to trace the side of his neck, down and then up again to his jawline.

“I _hate_ you.” You mumbled, just over the sound of the downpour and you felt his hands tighten just a fraction.

“Then why are you _here_?” He challenged, equally as quietly, leaning back to take off his glasses, and then your shades. You squinted momentarily when he took them off and leaned over to put them on the side table you were standing near.

You never quite got over how he looked without glasses on. He always seemed to wear glasses that took up the whole top half of his face, along with his stupid wonderful hair, and without them he always looked like a different person. Completely different, yet exactly the same. It went without saying that you looked different without your shades on, all red eyes and pale skin and near white eyelashes, like a fucking lab rat. You had come to terms with it. It didn't bother you, any more.

  
You mulled over John’s question with a bitter resentment. He gnawed at his lip like he always did when he was thinking, and he furrowed his eyebrows, creasing the skin in between them. You wanted more than anything to smooth the spot out with your thumbs and kiss it better and promise not to make everything worse than it already was.  
Than you had probably already made it.

You didn’t answer his question. And he didn’t press you for an answer. Instead, pressed your forehead back against his, feeling his eyelashes flutter down onto his cheeks like soot from smoke. And where there was smoke, there was guaranteed to be a fire.

  
You almost didn’t expect him to push forward and kiss you- it seemed so expected that you would just...stand here forever, foreheads pressed together and his hands shakily skirting over your shoulders and yours down the back of his neck, urgently trying to convey in touch alone both the love and the burning detest sinking deep into the pit of your gut. You could feel his lips trembling a fraction when they first touched yours. It was a drastic change from how he was before; kissing and holding onto you with a vice grip. Almost like he was holding back.  
You couldn’t have that.  
You pushed forward with a huff from your nose and deepened the kiss. All fever and heat and the passion of years of unresolved tension coming to the surface as your hands moved to grip at the fabric of his shirt at his sides. Apart from a small sound of surprise from the back of his throat, he didn’t protest and quickly slipped into the eerily familiar, almost ritualistic process that you had all but forgotten after so long.

  
_Why_ were you doing this?

  
You parted your lips and pressed your tongue against his bottom lip briefly, just in time for his to open his own mouth and twine his tongue hungrily with yours. He tasted like wine and lingering hesitancy, tingling desire and held back words at the back of his throat and lining every tastebud. Your hands moved back up and around to his chest,  fingers catching of the folds of his shirt and nearly taking off the button of his green plaid shirt. You didn’t want to have to feel obligated to fix it after that was inevitably about to happen. That was the least of your concerns.  
Your hands clasped at the material at his chest and you could feel his hands moving down your arms and leaving goosebumps in their wake, stopping at your waist and pulling you ever closer and closer, just to feel more of you as you wanted to feel him.

  
Not close enough.

  
John seemed to have the same thought, because he began to push up your shirt, exposing your stomach to the heated air of the apartment, warmed further by the intense heat of your combined body temperatures, before you too began to do the same and began to clumsily undo the buttons one by one, feeling your chest tightening with every second longer that you kissed him before you were forced back to suck in a huge breath, feeling colour flood into your face from the lack of air as you finished unbuttoning his shirt and he peeled off your own from your torso and dropped it onto the floor, shrugging his off before leaning back in to mouth mercilessly at your neck.

_  
Is this what he does to Vriska?_

  
You thought about it for a moment, and your enthusiasm wilted somewhat. You couldn’t help but consider, even through your drunken state, that maybe you were just a knot in his bedpost,. Even though he was once your best friend, and you supposed your lover, you weren’t sure if that meant anything to him at all. When he nipped at your throat, the worry left you and you gasped, the sound only getting louder when he planted his reddened lips over your throat and sucked, the  mortifying noise amplified by the otherwise empty room.  
There would be a mark. You almost thought to scold him, but the way you could feel blood flooding to the surface when he released the suction on your skin, and looked up with reddened lips and an expression laced with sin. You were never a religious man but you found a part of yourself thanking God for the turn of events.

  
This was _wrong_. You felt like you were taking advantage of him at a moment of weakness, of drunken haphazardness that started as your own undoing. John kissed you, a little clumsily on the corner of your mouth to get your attention, and you focused back on him, lacing your fingers through his hair and kissing him again.  
It almost seemed silly to stand there kissing in various states of undress, and the both of you knew this. Quickly, John tugged you by the waistband of your pants towards him, and you stumbled together until his back hit a door, bringing you pressed close to him as he tightened his arms around you and sighed heatedly against your lips.

  
This seemed so familiar, the way he held you and how fast his heart beat, slightly out of sync to yours but just as fast-- it almost seemed like the two of you were stupid, lust-drunk high schoolers again, rather than grown men with varying degrees of shit relationships to their names and mistakes weighing on their minds. It was a little foreign, actually; he was a lot more helpless in this position compared to you, pressed against the door and almost at your mercy. This shift of power was new, but not entirely unwelcome. It was refreshing, especially around John, who wanted to play ‘follow the leader’ in everything he was a part of, no exceptions.  
You’re not sure who turned the handle, but soon you were stumbling further into his darkened room, bed pristine aside from a pair of pyjama pants cast over the pillows and draws still partially open, presumably from when he was getting ready earlier. You had little time to worry about that however, because now he was pulling away with reddened lips (though that was probably partly from the metallic blood drying on his lips) and glassy eyes, and you could feel your heart practically beating it’s way out of your chest, determined to burst with the immense pressure that your nerves were putting it under.

  
Neither of you were saying anything, but perhaps that was for the best. Anything you did say posed a risk for the situation. It was too far along to back out now, and if you did end up backing out you would ruin your friendship forever-- if it wasn’t already ruined.  
You could worry about this later, when it was all over. But you knew that once it was over, everything will have gone to shit. Might as well enjoy it while it lasted, even if you were screaming at yourself internally for your idiocy.

  
The light from the living room was your only guide as he finally broke eyes with you and tugged you over to the bed, sitting down and staring expectantly. Still, you didn’t say anything-- it would break the spell. You joined him hesitantly. You still weren’t sure if this was a good idea, despite you being the one that initiated it in the first place. Alcohol and nerves did not mix in your case, and your multiple shots of dutch courage weren’t doing much to help your anxiousness, despite being good at lowering your inhibitions. He fluidly, almost like clockwork, leaned in and closed the gap, kissing you soundly and sliding his hand to the back of your head.

And there was his tongue.

  
Always very eager, was John.

  
You kissed him back, hands now touching the heated skin of his shoulders with something close to uncertainty. Six years. Six years was a long time, you were different, now. So was he, to an extent, toned muscles and some hair on his chest while still having soft skin that was dark in the dim light.  
Maybe that was why it wasn’t as difficult as you thought it would be. Although you knew it was wrong, that thought was quietly ferried to the back of your mind and stored for safe keeping for later, when you could worry about your actions tenfold.

  
Each tough felt all the more real without your shirts on, so much more electric and significant. It was so wrong, but so right, and even with the doubts in your head, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.  
Hands were wandering. And to your surprise, but somehow not, they were John’s. You kept forgetting that the John you were with now was the same John who want grocery shopping with you, and that John was the same John who used you years ago.

He was the John who was just dumped by his cheating girlfriend.

  
You couldn’t do this.

  
“John-” You pulled back, gripping his wandering hands tightly by the wrists and making him look up at you quickly.

“What are you _doing_?”

“I can’t do this, bro, Not right now, you’re vulnerable. C’mon.”

“No? No. I’m fine!” He gave you a too-wide to be genuine smile and tried to free his hands. There was a small part of you that wanted to let him.

“No you ain’t. ‘M not gonna be your rebound, man. You don’t like me like that, there’s no point you doin’ somethin’ like this an’-and then regretting it.”

“But...you want this, don’t you?”

_Not really_ , you thought. _Not anymore_. “What I want, John, you’re not ever gonna give me. Not in this lifetime. Your body 's one thing, but I need more than that.”

“What!? What am I going to do, now?”

“Just forget it, man. We’re both gonna regret this, right?”  
It was quiet, save for the rain pattering on the window pane, and the muffled noise from the tv in the other room, casting a little more light through the door of the otherwise darkened bedroom.

“...Right.” The word sounded heavy and full of implication, and things he was holding back on saying. For one perverse second, you allowed yourself to wonder if what he wasn’t saying might have been that he felt for you what you so reluctantly felt for him-- but no. That’s ridiculous. “You’re right. I’m an idiot. We’re drunk, I’m on the rebound. You’re right.” He said shortly, and then added, almost as an afterthought, “If I’m gonna do something like that to you, I’m going to do it right.”

You tried not to let that get your hopes up; after all, it was the alcohol talking. “Mm. Don’t worry, I’ll forget this ever happened by tomorrow- ‘m a blackout drunk, aren’t I?”

The thought comforted him a little, and he even attempted a smile. “I guess so.”

  
Somewhere between then, and passing out on the couch, you said goodnight to John, and you wondered if you really would forget what happened.

You were hoping you would, but knowing your luck? Doubtful.

 **  
**  
Morning arrived quickly, and brought with it a headache, an oddly sore nose, and a bad taste in your mouth. You opened your eyes and closed them immediately with a loud groan, clapping your hand over your eyes to block out the rest of the burning light coming from the dew speckled window. Distantly you could hear the sound of birds tweeting outside, and within the apartment the hissing of the shower that someone was taking. **  
**

Where _were_ you, anyway?

Never a stranger to blackout drunkenness, you had found yourself in random apartments fairly regularly back in New York after going out to bars. Despite how dodgy that might have been, you always got yourself tested and came back clean. You were pretty stupid, but not that stupid.  
You sat up with a short groan, rubbing your head and curling your feet into the shag carpet. You really needed to stop fucking drinking, it was going to kill you some day- just like it had your dad, and his dad before that.

It quickly became obvious to you that it was John’s apartment you were in (and not just because you vaguely remember arriving the previous night to pick him up), due to the pictures on the wall with him and his family and the odd one or two with Vriska as well. His apartment was just inexplicably John. So what were you still doing here? You guessed after drinking (you remember the girls you met at the bar, but not much more after that) John let you crash at his place, which was nice. You guessed your friendship was finally on the road to recovery. Which was nice.

A little more than nice, if the stupid grin on your face was anything to go by.

The shower cut off as you were thinking this, and you moved to automatically sort out your hair for the inevitable face-to-face with John.  
Maybe you could make the two of you some coffee? That way, when he came out, you wouldn’t just be sitting there awkwardly. You’d be sitting there awkwardly with coffee.

  
You got up (trying to resist puking with the sudden movement), and made your way to the kitchen unit to use the coffee machine. You remembered having the same (or at least similar) make of machine back in your old apartment, so it was easy to figure out. You sort of missed it, as weird as it sounded, as the coffee you tried to make yourself back at Bro’s apartment usually tasted like shit. Shame your coffee machine probably got burned to a crisp, you thought sullenly.

“Oh. Uh. Morning.” You had placed two mugs on the counter and were leaning against it, thinking about your own dearly departed coffee machine when John interrupted your thoughts, fresh from the shower and dressed in a pair of sweats and a shirt. He looked good, you thought to yourself automatically.

_  
God. Fuck dammit._

  
Yeah. You were so over trying to convince yourself you weren’t still completely into John.

  
“Mornin’. I made you coffee-black, no sugar? Like fucking petrol, right?”

“Right. Yeah, that’s how I take it.” You didn’t get how he could drink it like that, dark and bitter and murky and-- _wait, is that a bruise?_

“Dude, did you punch yourself in the sleep, or something?”

“What?” He was momentarily confused, but a wave of clarity (and ruefulness) washed over his expression. “...Don’t you remember?”

“What?” You took a sip of your own coffee, two sugars with cream and-- ow. You brought your mug away from your mouth to see blood of the rim, followed by you lapping some of the blood away from your lip, tasting the tang of iron. “What the hell-- did I split my lip?  What’s going on?”

“Do you _honestly_ not remember?” John asked you again, and you frowned. It was almost like he was dancing around something.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking about why it looks like you did a round with Muhammad Ali, dude. What. Happened. Did we consecutively walk into a series of walls for shits and giggles? Because honestly, I wouldn’t put it past drunk me to do stupid shit like that.”

“No, that’s dumb-- you, uh. You got into a fight.”

“I-- _what_?” You, the patron saint of narrowly avoiding getting your ass kicked, actually got your ass kicked? “How?”

“You... hit on some girl, and her boyfriend was there. He obviously didn’t like it, and you being the wiseass you are, wouldn’t shut your mouth. I had to jump in and save you, hence--” He gestured to his face. “You should have seen the other guy.” He added, with a small, somewhat awkward grin.

  
Okay. You were a little suspicious. John wasn’t a fighter, he was most certainly a lover, so what was with all of the bruises, and ‘jumping in’? John was definitely more of a mediator, so for him to just willingly beat someone up for you (although the thought was very appreciated, and a small part of you was swooning slightly at the prospect of him fighting for your honour) was odd. Besides, you were normally smarter than that, you never stayed anywhere long enough to get yourself in trouble.  
Something didn’t quite add up.

  
“...Right...how am I lookin’? How’s the money maker, can I face my adoring fans with my current mug?”

He studied you for a little longer than could be classed as a joke, before catching himself. “Beautiful, your fans will be pleased. Well, you’re a little cut up, but there’s nothing wrong with some battle scars.”

For all your suspicions, you spared him a grin and took another sip of your coffee, trying not to recoil at the pain.

“So, ‘part from that, how was it?” You asked. “Last night, I mean. Did I get lucky?”

“I guess so? Do you remember those girls?”

“Girls?” You thought for a moment, remembering vaguely a few girls that you recalled from your high school. “Oh, right. Yeah, they were nice, I guess.”

“Yeah? They seemed to like you. You even gave one of them your number!” He smiled. “Do I smell wedding bells?”

“Smell?” You echoed. “Don’t y’ mean hear, dork?”

John rolled his eyes and drank his coffee. “You know what I mean.”

“Don’t mean I ain’t gonna take the piss outta you for it.”

 **  
**  
John let you take a shower at his place, and gave you a change of clothes to wear on the way back to yours. He even insisted on washing your clothes, to which you respectfully declined. It was beginning to feel far too domestic up in here. Though, the thought of John in a twinset and pearls and some vintage fifties dress, doing the ironing and giving you a smooch on the cheek when you came in from work to be hilarious. Realistically, he’d probably be the bread earner of the relationship, seeing as you were still unemployed. You were thinking FAR too much into this.  
Eventually you left, as you still had a hangover, and you wanted to print of a few more copies of your CV to distribute over town. That, and the way you noticed John looking at you was making you feel a little flustered, a bit hot under the collar.

_  
What was his deal?_

**  
**You decided to walk home. The crisp bite of the winter air on your face sobered you up a bit, as had the coffee, and you welcomed the chill more than you would welcome the freezing temperatures of New York.  
John’s apartment was on the outskirts of the centre of the city, whereas yours was in the centre, so you had at least ten minutes to get to where you wanted to go. Plenty of time to think, and reflect.

It still didn’t add up, what he said. You didn’t get into fights, you either dodged any punches, or you were smart enough to talk your way out of any shit you got yourself into in the first place.  
What he was saying didn’t make any sense.  
And, what was that about flirting with some girl? It wasn’t to say you didn’t flirt with girls back in New York, but…you couldn’t do that anymore. You didn’t want to do that, anymore.  
It felt dishonest to act like that, even thought you knew John would never feel the same way.  
Besides, he was dating Vriska, right?

  
  
…

  
  
_Wait_.

  
  
No he wasn’t.

  
  
The realisation made you stop in your tracks, catching the brief attention of someone walking the opposite way (though, that might have also been because of the bruises you were sporting).

No,  he got a phone call, didn’t he? Last night, from Vriska. She broke up with him.

It was strange, with the amount you figured you had drank you didn’t think you would remember anything. But you did remember _that_.

He was really quiet after the phone call, if you recall correctly. You asked him what was wrong, and he told you she broke up with him, because she had cheated on him.

You were an asshole about it, so he punched you.

So that’s how you got the bruises. And how he got them. God, you had never seen John get into an argument (with anyone besides you), much less an actual fight, so what you said must have really, really gotten to him.

Was that why he was so weird around you?

You carried on walking. Maybe you should apologise to him later? If you upset him enough to make him hit you, you owe him that much.  
You took your phone out of your pocket, to see the light flashing with low power, and seeing a few missed calls from Rose.

_  
Rose?_

  
You got to a crossing, the same one you’d always cross when you went shopping with John, and waited for the light to turn red so you could walk.

 **  
**You called Rose last night, didn’t you? Or, she called you. Either way, you remember speaking to her, and… **  
**

 

_“But whenever I see him, I either want to kiss him, or kill him.”_

_“You’ll have to decide which one would be a better idea sooner or later.” He responded sagely. “Of course,” She added, as an afterthought. “I wouldn’t recommend killing him, or harbouring any ill will, because you’ll just set yourself on a path to self destruction. Nevertheless, there’s a path you need to take, and I suggest you choose which one quickly.”_

You remember.  
You kissed him. You kissed John.  
It was flooding back to you now, the fight, the kiss (the kiss that he asked for), when you ran out, then came back and kissed him again. The light was red by this time but you were still stood there, too taken aback to move.

God, what had you _done_?

 **  
**  
You somehow got home, despite the whole trip feeling like a blur, and it was seconds after you got through the door before collapsing, face first on the couch. Bro must have been out, because the apartment was dead silent. Not silent but with the feeling of being watched, just silent. And that was probably a good thing.Your phone buzzed at that moment, and you almost considered not answering the message, not just because of your low battery, but also with the possibility that it was John.  
But, as another text went through, you forced yourself to answer it. At least, to get rid of the notification if nothing else.

 

       

 

_‘John has feelings for you’._

It echoed in your head.

 **  
** It sort of made sense, especially lately. The embarrassed laughter, how to jolted back when you touched, how he seemed to fidgety around you.  
A small part of you was thrilled, but a larger part was worried. John was very much a self-confessed ‘straight ally’. He had no problem with lgbt-esque things, he even actively supported it, but… he just wasn’t.  
At least, that’s what you thought.  
There was always talk of heteroflexibility-- ‘I’m straight, but shit happens’, but you were fucked if you were going to let yourself be the ‘shit that happens’. You wanted to mean something. You yearned to have a place in John’s heart.

You hated yourself.

You were so weak, so fucking dependent on John and how he felt about you that you couldn’t function on your own without giving him a thought, and ‘what if’ing every five fucking seconds.

  
Even with Vriska out of the picture, you didn’t want to make a move, because you felt like if you did, it’d end up badly, with you leaving in the middle of the night and cutting of all contact, just like before.  
And you didn’t want to put anyone through that, not again.

 **  
** It was coming to the point where you had to make a decision, in all of your sad, sad sobriety. Be with him, confess to him how you feel, or leave him, and never tell him of how you feel. Neither decision sounded especially tempting, did it? Either way, it would result in stress and regret, and once again losing the one person you could ever possibly fall in love with.

  
Just before your phone died, you received another message, one from John. It wasn’t much, just something thanking you for staying over, and telling you he’d give your clothes back washed and dried soon. Even so, it was enough to bring a smile to your troubled, deep laced features. Maybe the decision could be put off. At least until after Christmas.

You didn’t want to ruin the holidays for the one you loved, did you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at porrimspantyhose.tumblr.com!!


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